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AIRI-NLP

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would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

dossier

How many times the word 'dossier' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

left

How many times the word 'left' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

hancock

How many times the word 'hancock' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

tunnel

How many times the word 'tunnel' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

considered

How many times the word 'considered' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

forklift

How many times the word 'forklift' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

already

How many times the word 'already' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

obvious

How many times the word 'obvious' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

appetizer

How many times the word 'appetizer' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

into

How many times the word 'into' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

nearly

How many times the word 'nearly' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

codes

How many times the word 'codes' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

tin

How many times the word 'tin' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

steal

How many times the word 'steal' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

silence

How many times the word 'silence' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

ensemble

How many times the word 'ensemble' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

kissing

How many times the word 'kissing' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

joke

How many times the word 'joke' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

pouches

How many times the word 'pouches' appears in the text?

would you rather just dance. Oh. Slightly embarrassed at her lack of split-second efficiency, she tries to find the thing in her gear. After watching her fumble for a bit... GIN I know I packed it. ...he just reaches in and pulls it out. A small LANTERN which he FLICKS on, brilliantly ILLUMINATING the entire hold. Scans the platforms...polnts to a CRATE wrapped in 4-ply heavy duty plastic membrane. MAC Coal into diamonds. A wealth machine. GIN How do you know that's it? MAC (as if stating the obvious) It's 12 by 9 by 7 feet. And it's the only thing worth waterproofing, in case the ship sinks. GIN (softly) ...you twit. MAC Hmmn? GIN I'm just finishing your sentence. Can't you answer a question with- out making me feel stupid? He's heading toward the swaying platforms... MAC Why would I bother? He is climbing onto a lower platform, easily vaulting up to the magic crate. She follows, but it isn't as easy as he's made it look. She has to scramble, almost falling. He's already pulled from his gear... ...six rubber POUCHES. She hands him her welding tool, and he begins attaching the pouches to the top and sides of the crate. The plunging ship has the platform really rocking. GIN (concerned) They don't look like flotation bags... MAC (working fast) Shit. Well then, let's forget the whole thing. She stares at him. GIN Okay, it was a dumb ques... His eyes come UP. So fast that her breath stops. He looks plenty angry. MAC Let's get one thing straight. I don't work with partners much, because basically, I find most people to be idiots. She swallows. Hard. MAC You, in contrast, are first-rate. He watches the effect of that play across her eyes. MAC And if I think so. Maybe you should start thinking the same. Now move your ass. And goes back to work. She pauses a beat. Then pulls out two lengths of Kevlar rope. Begins securing their platform to the one above, to minimize the amount of sway. As she struggles with this, she sees him finish by welding a very small gray BOX to the top of the crate. When he glances up, he sees her staring at the box. MAC GPS transponder. Sends a scrambled signal by satellite... He touches the device. It BEEPS. A light glows RED. MAC Precise coordinates. You could find a golf ball in the Gobi Desert. He rises. JUMPS down to the floor. GIN Where you g... MAC (walking away) Fork lift. GIN That's my assignm... MAC (turning back) Unless you've got the keys, someone has to hot wire it. Oh. MAC Finish up on the floaters. And heads off toward the fork lift. Finish up? She looks at the rubber pouches. They seem finished to her. Tugs at a couple. On pretty firmly. Across the way, we HEAR the fork lift turn its engine OVER. GIN Won't they hear it? MAC (O.S.) Over these engines? Through five feet of steel? She hurriedly secures the last of her Kevlar lines. MAC (O.S.) Hell, if they do, they don't have the second key to get in. He is driving up in the rickety fork lift. Weaving around crates and equipment. MAC Thank God for redundant security. He hops lightly from the fork lift, reaches up, and she jumps down INTO his arms. Quickly, the switch places, Gin climbing into the idling fork lift, as Mac clambers up to UNBOLT the crate's pallet with his air wrench... Gin moves the fork lift into position. Mac bracing his legs against neighboring cargo, using all his strength to hold our crate steady. He is really straining. GIN How many tries do I get? MAC (with effort) One, before I beat you senseless, dump you over the side, and donate your share to charity. She brings the fork UP. The crate sways slightly. She lines up her prongs against the pallet's receiving holes... GIN You gotta work on that impatient streak. ...and slips them straight IN. First try. GIN (amazed) How professional. She LIFTS the crate, but the boat LURCHES, and she nearly LOSES it off the fork. But she doesn't. SWINGS her load around now. Heading for the open hatchway, the roiling sea racing by. Picking up SPEED, slightly... GIN Uh. Thing on the left is the brakes? MAC (laconic) Or the thing on the right. By now she is really ROLLING toward the wide open spaces... GIN MAC, IT'S JAMMED! He POUNCES off the platform, FLYING after the lift as it ACCELERATES THROUGH the opening... MAC JUMP, for God's sa... ...TIPPING at the hatchway lip, the crate sliding OFF the prongs, our forklift TUMBLING OUT the hatch to the sea, just as Mac... ...SNATCHES Gin by her HAIR, pulling her FREE of the falling forklift, CATCHING the rim of the hatchway with his free hand, Gin SCREAMING in fright and pain, BLINDLY grabbing his arm to be... ...jerked BACK to safety. Clutching Mac, she watches the sea behind them. Where the crate and the forklift disappeared. MAC You did activate the floaters. Her head WHIPS around. Aghast. GIN Activa... MAC I did say, 'Finish up on the floaters'. Surely, you heard me. Her life. Flashes before her eyes. As behind the ship... ...the crate BOBS to the surface. We can see the tiny red light on the transponder from here. MAC (softly) Oh. Guess I did it m'self. She WHIPS back, and starts POUNDING at him with her fists. He is laughing so hard, he takes a few good shots before he can GRASP her wrists. She SPITS in his face. He strikes back by... ...kissing her hard. She struggles for a beat. And then she lets him. When they finish, he reaches to UNZIP her jumping suit. All the way. Pulls it down gently, revealing... ...her evening gown. A wrinkle-free material which slips down across her legs from where it had been bunched across her hips. He is unzipping his outfit as well, revealing formal wear of his own. He stuffs the suits into his gear pack, removing only... ...her evening bag and shoes. Then lifting both packs, he... GIN Um... ...FLINGS them into the black ocean. Gone. GIN ...I wouldn't do that. So he turns. She looks really stunned. And scared. MAC Excuse me? GIN Well...I saw our suction things. Lying...over...there? She points. To where no suction things are lying. GIN (a mouse) ...so I put 'em in my pack? His eyes WIDEN. GIN Or maybe. I put 'em there. And points. To where they are. She tilts her head. Gives him a great smile. Is he enraged? His dry grin says, not hardly. MAC I like a quick study. Then again. You can never tell. EXT. FREIGHTER DECK - NIGHT Expansive barely-lit deck under a canopy of stars. A silver-haired couple in immaculate evening attire stroll alone, he is humming to barely-audible dance music from a distant lounge. She clings to his arm, it is romantic. Until they reach the railing where he turns, and says something quietly in German... She stiffens. Pulls her arm away from his. She sneers coldly, calls him a name in German, and he UNLOADS on her, a barrage of German-language INVECTIVE that would melt a tank. She absorbs the abuse without flinching, turns toward the rail, HAWKS and... ...SPITS over the side. Strides away from him. He watches her go. Then... ...SPITS over the side himself. And follows her. Half a beat. Mac's head APPEARS above the rail. Just where they spit. Not a mark on him. INT. BALLROOM - NIGHT Our old German couple are DANCING wonderfully in each other's arms Inspiring. PAN a dozen really old couples dancing to the three- piece Filipino ensemble, until we come to... Gin and Mac spinning slowly, flawlessly, their eyes telling the surrounding geezers that they are very much in love. We CLOSE to hear their sweet murmurings... MAC ...no matter how many stones we make, the diamonds are just an appetizer. GIN (dreamily) And the meal...? MAC My contract. With DeBeers. She blinks. Hit by a ton of bricks. GIN Oh my G... MAC Sensible folks, DeBeers. A world monopoly in diamonds based on one simple principle...something's only priceless if it's scarce. He WHIRLS her in a tight spin. The geriatic Germans can only watch and envy. MAC These guys dig up all the diamonds on the planet, just to keep them out of circulation. Otherwise, you could buy 'em at the Five and Dime... GIN Watch the old guy stuff, they don't have dimestores anym... MAC Imagine the chaos we could cause. She is imagining. GIN You said 'contract'... MAC We're sort of bounty hunters. Gin likes the ring of that. Green eyes dance with delight. MAC Our machine is worth far more dead. Than alive. VOICE (O.S.) Glad to see you're both alive. They look over. The officious STEWARD from this afternoon. Now in black tie. STEWARD When you missed cocktails. And supper. I thought of knocking on your door... Mac turns Gin so that she can send the boob a lazy smile... GIN Oh, I wish you had. We love having strangers join us! Maybe later...? Mac turns her once more, so that he faces the flummoxed steward across her bare shoulder... MAC Promise you an interesting time... Trademark smile. MAC Or my name's not Banquo MacDuff. You twit. INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT Our couple moving down the softly-lit hallway, past the burnished doors of luxury suites. Her arms wrapped around one of his, their bodies close together. MAC ...well, I would ask what you're doing with the rest of your life. But that's your own bloody affair, isn't it? She sighs. GIN Yeh. Anyway, before you get too choked up on the farewell. I feel I owe you a confession. He glances down. Really? Really. GIN Time has come to tell you. What business. I'm actually in. He thinks about this. And then... MAC Not here. EXT. DECK - NIGHT Mac leads her along the empty moonlit deck to... ...the BOWSPRIT, a long, narrow platform, ringed by a flimsy rail, it juts far out above a churning sea. The whipping of the wind makes it seem all the more precarious. MAC It only looks dangerous... Holds out his hand. She hesitates. MAC You couldn't fall off. Unless someone threw you over. Gives her the smile. She puts her hand in his, and they hop UP to the platform. Walk its length to the very end. He turns now, leans casually against the fragile railing. They are inches apart. MAC More intimate. For a confession. Gin looks down at the plume of wake leaping off the bow. MAC What business. You are actually. In. She looks up. To his eyes. Into them. GIN Yeh. I'm not an art dealer. MAC Of course not. You're a cop. And tilts his head. Just to one side. MAC An insurance investigator for Webber Assurance, your boss is an idiot named Hector Cruz, you've been there four years and ten months, you're quite the rising star. GIN (evenly) Nope. His head tilts. Just a little farther. MAC (very softly) Nope? GIN I'm a thief, Mac. Holds the look. GIN For five years, I've used the database of every client Webber has to plan my jobs. Museums, banks, jewelers, rich people, I have floor plans, alarm codes, passwords, the works. His face absolutely neutral. Unreadable. GIN I've made a fortune. It's not enough. MAC Why n... GIN Why wasn't it enough for you? He falls silent. GIN The Vermeer that was stolen from Hancock Tower? That was my job. I scaled the building with electromagnets, and parachuted down an air vent... No smile at her lips. Strictly business. GIN ...after mailing the painting. To where we're going next, actua... MAC (quietly) We. She looks him up and down. GIN Yeh, we. You passed the audition. Now he smiles. First time. MAC (a murmur) Imagine my relief. GIN I need a partner. For the biggest, smartest, job. Ever. The one you retire off of, because nothing else could ever compare with the rush. MAC Ever. Is such a long time. GIN This is a job that can only be done in one place, in one split-second in human history. If we miss that instant. We lose. MAC And it's worth...? GIN Eight billion dollars. That's eight thousand million. MAC How much in shillings? GIN You're not a real trusting guy. MAC And I tried so hard to hide that. GIN It's two jobs. The first steals something priceless from the National Palace Museum in Taipei. We don't keep that. We trade it in for our ticket to the show. MAC One moment in time, you s... GIN Midnight, July 1, 1997. Eight days from now. The moment that Hong Kong is annexed by china. And now. She has his interest. She can see that. GIN 80-20 split. MAC Don't be so hard on yourself. It's your plan, you should take at least thirty perc... GIN My 80, your 20. Asshole. He thinks this over. MAC 50-50. Or you can swim to Taipei. She is not impressed. Or afraid. He grins... MAC What are you gonna do with six billion dollars that you can't do with four? GIN Hold the record. Alone. This. He likes. So much that he leans to kiss her, with surprising tenderness. MAC Your share is 50%. And one dollar. Her hard stare. And then, she smiles. Just barely. Still in his arms... GIN I like what you left. In the hold. MAC You didn't even see wha... GIN A lump of coal. A pair of pliers. A note that said, 'Squeeze hard'. This is the most taken with her that he has ever looked. She leans up and kisses him. Whispers... GIN Squeeze hard. EXT. STREET, SHIHLIN DISTRICT, TAIPEI - LATE NIGHT Ugly section of an ugly town. Unmarked warehouses, alleyways teeming with food stalls. HEAR a motorcycle approach, and see... ...Gin driving, Mac sits behind her. Going real fast, maybe she's showing off, we FOLLOW them DOWN a blind alley, as she smoothly WHEELS them into... ...an open FREIGHT ELEVATOR. She climbs off, he doesn't. As Gin goes to work the controls, Mac sees a cat curled in the corner, mewing softly. GIN That's Madame Chiang Kaishek, she's my bud. An evil streak a mile wide. The elevator JOLTS to life. MAC No surprise. They CLANG upward. Mac seems utterly relaxed. Gin paces a little, hugging herself. Her features tense. MAC (gently) Tired? She blinks up. He is straddling the bike. Smiling at her. GIN I have a lot on my mind. Ah. Well... MAC You look beautiful doing it. He seems to mean that. And it seems to melt her a little. She sags against the wall, closing her eyes, as... ...they JOLT to a stop. She PULLS the heavy LEVER, and the door SLIDES noisily open, to reveal... ...a gigantic LOFT. She flicks on a dim light, but we see only part of the cavernous space. She strolls, Madame Chiang trotting along behind. Mac follows, looking around, then down to see... ...a pile of MAIL, cables, packages. The unopened MAILING TUBE we saw in the Hancock Tower penthouse. He crouches, lifts the tube in his hands... GIN (O.S.) You wanna buy a Vermeer? MAC Rather steal it. GIN (O.S.) Been there, done that. He nods to himself. Guess so. He rises to see her framed against the gaping starlit opening of a huge LOADING DOOR. The twinkling island lies below. But here, Gin stares down at... ...an elaborate architectural MODEL. Fifteen feet across, it features an imposing yellow, pagoda-roofed BUILDING, built into the side of a model MOUNTAIN. Formal gardens, fountains, tiny Kuomintang flags. Stretching away from the building, a large portion of the CITY, with shops and alleyways elaborately detailed. As Mac joins her... GIN National Palace Museum, Taipei, Taiwan. Repository of four thousand years of Chinese culture... He bends to lift UP the detachable roof. All the rooms are detailed within, down to exhibit cases. GIN Works of gold, bronze, jade, onyx, pots and scrolls, paintings and porcelains and lacquer work. Every treasure the Kuomintang could loot before the Reds took over. (beat) Ever rob the place? MAC No. If memory serves. She takes him by the hand, and leads him toward the gaping doorway, walking straight toward it... GIN You need to eat something, or are you ready for sex? And just at the edge of it... MAC (torn) The options seem so limited. They jump THROUGH the opening. And VANISH. Our ANGLE closes on the doorway, to see OUT now, sitting like a jewel against the hillside... ...the NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, looking exactly like the model. The town spread out beyond. Just as in the model. And now we TILT sharply DOWN to see... ...a loading PLATFORM, suspended above the island, only a few feet below our opening. Like a balcony without a railing. Mac and Gin already sinking down onto a waiting futon. Looks like he's made his pick. Among limited options. INT. LOFT - SUNRISE CLOSE on the MODEL MUSEUM in early light. Propped against it, the unrolled Vermeer. Pinned to the painting, a note we can't read. In the B.G., HEAR what sounds like the rattling of a SUBWAY TRAIN, which runs a short distance and STOPS. We TILT ANGLE now, to see... ...through the sunlit opening of the loading door. Mac's head APPEARS, peeking up over the lip. MAC Ginny...? LOST in another brief subway rumble. He lightly VAULTS up through the doorway. Looks around, no Gin. Goes to the model. Lifts the note pinned to the Vermeer... MAC (reads) This lovely parting gift can be yours. If the price is right. Stumped. Not in his cultural database. He looks at the model, to see that the stretch of city between museum and mountain has been lifted away, revealing... ...an underground RAILWAY TUNNEL between the two. Mac examines the tiny train, the tracks, the winding route. From the side walls, well above the tracks, huge VENTILATION PIPES open onto the tunnel. Starting at the museum end, they are labeled VENT #1, and so on. There are five. The last one shortly before... ...the mountain. Where a cavernous opening is labeled BARRACKS. Tiny toy soldiers kneel on a landing, rifles in position to shoot at the oncoming train. And as Mac studies this curiously... ...the nearby SUBWAY RATTLES the walls once more. Sounds like it's in the room, somehow. Mac rises. Saunters across the loft, and we see for the first time the enormity of this space. Suddenly, the floor ends, and we are looking down nearly thirty feet onto... ...a spacious HANGAR, outfitted with 150 feet of RAILWAY TRACK, at the far end of which sits a full-sited TRAIN CAR, exactly like the one in the model. And just below us... ...Gin crouches on a concave platform of corrugated metal, eighteen feet above the track. She holds a remote control device, which she uses to REV the train's engine, far down the line. She looks really tense. MAC Good morning. She startles slightly. Shuts OFF the train's engine. As she looks up to him now, the silence is noticeable. He crouches down, only a foot or so above her... MAC Quite a parting gift. I would have settled for roses. GIN It's a joke. You know, a joke? People who have a sense of humor make them? He's clueless. But smiling. GIN You're rich, go buy an American, have him fill you in on the culture. MAC Ah. American culture. Well, that is a joke. He leans down. Strokes her hair very gently. MAC (murmurs) Relax. It's only eight billion dollars. She looks up into his eyes. But she can't smile. MAC (softly) Your Vermeer? I like this View Of Delft better than the larger one. The sky is more emotionally rendered. Staring in his eyes. And just as softly back... GIN Nice. When a sky is that. He holds the look. Very strong and very gentle... MAC Is it easier now? Not pretending. Is it? MAC Not pretending you're an innocent. Not pretending you...like me. No answer. Effortlessly, he hops down to join her. Never losing eye contact. MAC Here's a tip from an old-timer. Never forget who you are... Settles next to her. Bodies touching. MAC It gives you someone to be. When you stop pretending. Okay? She nods, slowly. Her eyes moving over his face. Maybe more feelings going through her than she can sort out. MAC (still soft) So. Our train runs from the museum, through an underground tunnel. To a mountain. GIN Because the museum displays 10,000 relics at any given moment. But there are 60 times that many, stored in the mountain. This overwhelms. Even Mac. GIN Which is why it's guarded. By an army. She is unfastening the small pack at her feet... GIN The train shuttles relics to and from storage. It looks exactly like that. So Mac looks down the line. At the train car. GIN I've been down the air ducts four times. The train always has two armed guards. Always travels between 32 and 36 miles per hour. Relics don't like to be jostled too much. MAC (all business now) Your model has five vents. GIN We go down the first. Back up the third, if you're lucky. If not, we have to get out by the fourth. MAC (simply) Then we will. She pulls from the pack four thick DISCS, each about eight inches in diameter, each with a toggle switch and a wrist loop. She starts to put two of them on... GIN Electromagnets, incredibly powerful. This switch is on-off. He gestures at the train, the track, the hangar... MAC Seems like overkill. For one simple jump. GIN Well, it's an eight billion dollar jump. You miss the train...you've missed the train. Flicks ON her remote. Down the track the engine REVS. Like crazy. GIN We've got five days to grab the Bones, trade them for the Scan, and pull our 8 billion out of Hong Kong. Once midnight passes on July 1st... MAC ...we've missed the train, yeh. The Bones? The Scan? GIN Oh. Have I neglected to fill in the details? MAC An oversight. GIN Which I learned from the master. Hey. Wish me luck... CLICKS the remote, the train LEAP5 forward, 36 MPH never seemed so fast! She has a split-second to LEAP down, the train SAILS beneath her, Gin's feet GRAZE the back end of the platform at the rear of the car, she SWIPES DESPERATELY with the magnets, can't connect, and is THROWN into a ROLL along the side of the tracks. She's UP on her knees, watching the train SLAM into the massive blue PADS at the end of the track. She is bruised, shaken, but most of all, really worried and really pissed. MAC (quietly) Jump sooner. She pulls out the remote... GIN Be my fucking guest. The train ROCKETS backward, straight PAST where she kneels, to BRAKE at the start of the track once more. She nods up to Mac, who is strapping on his magnets. He crouches, nods, ready. And the train... ...BLASTS toward him, he counts, JUMPS, and SLAMS ONTO the ROOF of the train, which PLOWS into the heavy padding, FLINGING him twenty feet like a rag doll to land in a HEAP. He lies still. Then blinks, surprised he's alive. HEARS a rich whiskey LAUGHTER down the track. MAC I'm too old for this shit! And as he pulls himself up. She is staring at him, from her knees... GIN Know a dude named Wiley Coyote? ...with what can only be described as love. GIN (softly) Forget it. EXT. NATIONAL PALACE MUSEUM, TAIPEI - DAY AERIAL VIEW down toward the sweeping pagoda roofs of the MUSEUM, the formal gardens, the fountains, the tree-lined driveway. CLOSE now, as a cab pulls up, a couple emerges... She is first. Chanel suit with an extremely short skirt, revealing endless legs. She helps him from the taxi, a white-haired geezer who seems well past 90, fumbling with his walking stick, and making quick, erratic, bird-like glances in every direction. She takes his arm for support. Murmurs in his ear... GIN Isn't it easier now? Not pretending? Gives him a full-tongue KISS in the ear, which has bystanders noticing. Starts to help him up the stairs, still whispering close... GIN Five years, you won't need make-up. In answer he GRABS her ass, and she YELPS with delight, attract- ing attention all around. His turn to whisper, as he massages her backside... MAC We agreed. No underwear. GIN Overkill. I can do it with legs. He stops. Gives the long legs a dubious twice-over. MAC I'd lose the underwear. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Mac leaning on her arm, as they pass case after case. Bronzes, jades, lacquer work. Every object exquisite, priceless. GIN The Oracle Bones date back to the Shang Dynasty, 3500 years ago. They are writings...carved into ox bones, tortoise shells... She cuddles close to him. They approach a tour group, the female guide speaking in four European languages. Really loud. GIN The oldest Chinese writing any- where, the first proof of Chinese civilization. MAC What makes this one so valuable? He stops, drowned out by the tour guide, rhapsodizing over an urn. Butts into her rap... MAC (subtitled Italian) Except it's Chien-lung, mimicking Sung Period. The color is far too delicate. The woman gets real insulted. Apparently, he's right. MAC (subtitled German) It's all right, you have a nice body. And walks on. Confides to Gin... MAC When you're old, you can do anything GRABS her bottom once more, altering her voice slightly on... GIN There we are. A separate display room. A single steel pedestal. Under the smart-glass security case, one single object. It is a fragile, yellowed fragment of bone. The shoulder blade of an ox. Covered with tiny script. GIN Last year, ancient artifacts were discovered in the Gulf of Mexico. An Olmec civilization, 3200 years old. No tourists in the display room. A velvet rope is up. Three GUARDS mill at the entrance. This exhibit is off-limits. GIN Amazingly, markings on these Olmec figures were identified as Shang Dynasty writing... A sign explains, SORROWFUL TO INFORM ORACAL BONE CLOSE FOR TRAVEL EXIBITION UNTIL IS NOVEMBER. GIN This particular Bone is price- less, because it is the one that establishes the link. Proves that American civilizations descend from Chinese ancestors. She is pulling out her coin purse, as they stand by the rope. Unzipping it slowly... GIN Exactly the kind of propaganda shit they eat up in Beijing. The mainland would pay anything to get its paws on th... As her shaking 'elderly' companion SPASMS, knocking the purse OUT of her hand, it CLATTERS to the floor, sending a hundred coins ROLLING in all directions. Some under the rope. MAC (old guy voice) SHIT! BLOODY HELL!!! And collapses to the hardwood floor in search of the coins, HOWLING as he BANGS his knees. Some bystanders hurry to help. And one of the guards. As Mac tries to crawl under the rope to pursue coins... ...the guard STOPS him with a firm hand, pointing at the pidgen- English sign. Meanwhile, calmly, very slowly... ...Gin crouches down to retrieve coins, the short skirt riding recklessly high on her upper thighs. The two remaining guards hurry to help her. Mac's guard, bystanders, all transfixed by the marginal preservation of her modesty. Noticing the eye-lines all around, she confides to the nearest guard... GIN (in Mandarin, helpful) Those are the coins. These are my legs. Unnoticed, Mac is BANGING his wristwatch, which seems to have broken. CLOSE on him now, manipulating a glide point DEVICE on the side of the watch, and we RACK FOCUS to see... ...one coin. Inside the rope. Move. As Mac checks to see all eyes are elsewhere, he guides the coin's slide slowly, inexorably, to... ...ATTACH itself magnetically. To the steel pedestal. Beneath the Bone's case. As it does, Mac's watch BEEPS slightly, as we CLOSE on it to see... ...DATA flickering across its face. MAC (old guy voice) Amanda! Time for my pills! INT. NOODLE SHOP, TAIPEI - DAY Gin and Mac at a long communal table, ignored, by Taiwanese couples, families, businessmen, chattering loudly all around them. Gin looking down at her bowl, she's barely touched her meal... GIN ...no, I don't think that way. Glances up. Mac is eating heartily, happily. GIN ...and I suppose you do? MAC Get lonely? Sure, all the time. It's healthy. Stuffs his mouth full. Talking around it... MAC What's unhealthy. Is denial. She's studying him as he eats. Since he's not looking at her, Gin's eyes are thoughtful, appraising. GIN Be real. you could never see yourself...you know, quitting the game. Settling...down. And he looks up. Direct to her eyes. A dead straight, heart- stopping look. Before the wonderful smile. MAC Why, Ginger. This is so sudden. She cuts him a hard look. Not funny. INT. MUSEUM - DAY Late afternoon, the place has closed. Four armed GUARDS, accompanied by a museum OFFICIAL, push a large DOLLY across the hardwood floor, heels clicking, wheels rumbling softly, into... ...the room we've seen. The dolly stops by the display case of the priceless oracle Bone. The four guards position themselves around the triple-paned bulletproof case. It will be a bitch to lift. The official has a key. He inserts this into the lock of the titanium frame which holds the case to the steel pedestal. And as it CLICKS, we... SMASH CUT TO... INT. NOODLE SHOP - DAY Mac's arm rising with noodle-laden chopsticks, the wristwatch BEEPING softly. He drops the chopsticks, rising in one fluid motion as Gin does the same, throwing some bills on the table, he leads her... ...OUT the door, INTO the street, step

honoring

How many times the word 'honoring' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

charge

How many times the word 'charge' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

cathedral

How many times the word 'cathedral' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

wicked

How many times the word 'wicked' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

evolving

How many times the word 'evolving' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

bright

How many times the word 'bright' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

vast

How many times the word 'vast' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

cried

How many times the word 'cried' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

weasel

How many times the word 'weasel' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

ni

How many times the word 'ni' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

tearing

How many times the word 'tearing' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

till

How many times the word 'till' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

interfere

How many times the word 'interfere' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

minding

How many times the word 'minding' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

off

How many times the word 'off' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

ilkeston

How many times the word 'ilkeston' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

whirlwind

How many times the word 'whirlwind' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

contempt

How many times the word 'contempt' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

cataclysmic

How many times the word 'cataclysmic' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

lit

How many times the word 'lit' appears in the text?

wrong, and when he was expecting her to feel the same, there she sat at the sewing-machine, the whole house was covered with clipped calico, the kettle was not even on the fire. She started up, affecting concern. "Is it so late?" she cried. But his face had gone stiff with rage. He walked through to the parlour, then he walked back and out of the house again. Her heart sank. Very swiftly she began to make his tea. He went black-hearted down the road to Ilkeston. When he was in this state he never thought. A bolt shot across the doors of his mind and shut him in, a prisoner. He went back to Ilkeston, and drank a glass of beer. What was he going to do? He did not want to see anybody. He would go to Nottingham, to his own town. He went to the station and took a train. When he got to Nottingham, still he had nowhere to go. However, it was more agreeable to walk familiar streets. He paced them with a mad restlessness, as if he were running amok. Then he turned to a book-shop and found a book on Bamberg Cathedral. Here was a discovery! here was something for him! He went into a quiet restaurant to look at his treasure. He lit up with thrills of bliss as he turned from picture to picture. He had found something at last, in these carvings. His soul had great satisfaction. Had he not come out to seek, and had he not found! He was in a passion of fulfilment. These were the finest carvings, statues, he had ever seen. The book lay in his hands like a doorway. The world around was only an enclosure, a room. But he was going away. He lingered over the lovely statues of women. A marvellous, finely-wrought universe crystallized out around him as he looked again, at the crowns, the twining hair, the woman-faces. He liked all the better the unintelligible text of the German. He preferred things he could not understand with the mind. He loved the undiscovered and the undiscoverable. He pored over the pictures intensely. And these were wooden statues, "Holz"--he believed that meant wood. Wooden statues so shapen to his soul! He was a million times gladdened. How undiscovered the world was, how it revealed itself to his soul! What a fine, exciting thing his life was, at his hand! Did not Bamberg Cathedral make the world his own? He celebrated his triumphant strength and life and verity, and embraced the vast riches he was inheriting. But it was about time to go home. He had better catch a train. All the time there was a steady bruise at the bottom of his soul, but so steady as to be forgettable. He caught a train for Ilkeston. It was ten o'clock as he was mounting the hill to Cossethay, carrying his limp book on Bamberg Cathedral. He had not yet thought of Anna, not definitely. The dark finger pressing a bruise controlled him thoughtlessly. Anna had started guiltily when he left the house. She had hastened preparing the tea, hoping he would come back. She had made some toast, and got all ready. Then he didn't come. She cried with vexation and disappointment. Why had he gone? Why couldn't he come back now? Why was it such a battle between them? She loved him--she did love him--why couldn't he be kinder to her, nicer to her? She waited in distress--then her mood grew harder. He passed out of her thoughts. She had considered indignantly, what right he had to interfere with her sewing? She had indignantly refuted his right to interfere with her at all. She was not to be interfered with. Was she not herself, and he the outsider. Yet a quiver of fear went through her. If he should leave her? She sat conjuring fears and sufferings, till she wept with very self-pity. She did not know what she would do if he left her, or if he turned against her. The thought of it chilled her, made her desolate and hard. And against him, the stranger, the outsider, the being who wanted to arrogate authority, she remained steadily fortified. Was she not herself? How could one who was not of her own kind presume with authority? She knew she was immutable, unchangeable, she was not afraid for her own being. She was only afraid of all that was not herself. It pressed round her, it came to her and took part in her, in form of her man, this vast, resounding, alien world which was not herself. And he had so many weapons, he might strike from so many sides. When he came in at the door, his heart was blazed with pity and tenderness, she looked so lost and forlorn and young. She glanced up, afraid. And she was surprised to see him, shining-faced, clear and beautiful in his movements, as if he were clarified. And a startled pang of fear, and shame of herself went through her. They waited for each other to speak. "Do you want to eat anything?" she said. "I'll get it myself," he answered, not wanting her to serve him. But she brought out food. And it pleased him she did it for him. He was again a bright lord. "I went to Nottingham," he said mildly. "To your mother?" she asked, in a flash of contempt. "No--I didn't go home." "Who did you go to see?" "I went to see nobody." "Then why did you go to Nottingham?" "I went because I wanted to go." He was getting angry that she again rebuffed him when he was so clear and shining. "And who did you see?" "I saw nobody." "Nobody?" "No--who should I see?" "You saw nobody you knew?" "No, I didn't," he replied irritably. She believed him, and her mood became cold. "I bought a book," he said, handing her the propitiatory volume. She idly looked at the pictures. Beautiful, the pure women, with their clear-dropping gowns. Her heart became colder. What did they mean to him? He sat and waited for her. She bent over the book. "Aren't they nice?" he said, his voice roused and glad. Her blood flushed, but she did not lift her head. "Yes," she said. In spite of herself, she was compelled by him. He was strange, attractive, exerting some power over her. He came over to her, and touched her delicately. Her heart beat with wild passion, wild raging passion. But she resisted as yet. It was always the unknown, always the unknown, and she clung fiercely to her known self. But the rising flood carried her away. They loved each other to transport again, passionately and fully. "Isn't it more wonderful than ever?" she asked him, radiant like a newly opened flower, with tears like dew. He held her closer. He was strange and abstracted. "It is always more wonderful," she asseverated, in a glad, child's voice, remembering her fear, and not quite cleared of it yet. So it went on continually, the recurrence of love and conflict between them. One day it seemed as if everything was shattered, all life spoiled, ruined, desolate and laid waste. The next day it was all marvellous again, just marvellous. One day she thought she would go mad from his very presence, the sound of his drinking was detestable to her. The next day she loved and rejoiced in the way he crossed the floor, he was sun, moon and stars in one. She fretted, however, at last, over the lack of stability. When the perfect hours came back, her heart did not forget that they would pass away again. She was uneasy. The surety, the surety, the inner surety, the confidence in the abidingness of love: that was what she wanted. And that she did not get. She knew also that he had not got it. Nevertheless it was a marvellous world, she was for the most part lost in the marvellousness of it. Even her great woes were marvellous to her. She could be very happy. And she wanted to be happy. She resented it when he made her unhappy. Then she could kill him, cast him out. Many days, she waited for the hour when he would be gone to work. Then the flow of her life, which he seemed to damn up, was let loose, and she was free. She was free, she was full of delight. Everything delighted her. She took up the rug and went to shake it in the garden. Patches of snow were on the fields, the air was light. She heard the ducks shouting on the pond, she saw them charge and sail across the water as if they were setting off on an invasion of the world. She watched the rough horses, one of which was clipped smooth on the belly, so that he wore a jacket and long stockings of brown fur, stand kissing each other in the wintry morning by the church-yard wall. Everything delighted her, now he was gone, the insulator, the obstruction removed, the world was all hers, in connection with her. She was joyfully active. Nothing pleased her more than to hang out the washing in a high wind that came full-butt over the round of the hill, tearing the wet garments out of her hands, making flap-flap-flap of the waving stuff. She laughed and struggled and grew angry. But she loved her solitary days. Then he came home at night, and she knitted her brows because of some endless contest between them. As he stood in the doorway her heart changed. It steeled itself. The laughter and zest of the day disappeared from her. She was stiffened. They fought an unknown battle, unconsciously. Still they were in love with each other, the passion was there. But the passion was consumed in a battle. And the deep, fierce unnamed battle went on. Everything glowed intensely about them, the world had put off its clothes and was awful, with new, primal nakedness. Sunday came when the strange spell was cast over her by him. Half she loved it. She was becoming more like him. All the week-days, there was a glint of sky and fields, the little church seemed to babble away to the cottages the morning through. But on Sundays, when he stayed at home, a deeply-coloured, intense gloom seemed to gather on the face of the earth, the church seemed to fill itself with shadow, to become big, a universe to her, there was a burning of blue and ruby, a sound of worship about her. And when the doors were opened, and she came out into the world, it was a world new--created, she stepped into the resurrection of the world, her heart beating to the memory of the darkness and the Passion. If, as very often, they went to the Marsh for tea on Sundays, then she regained another, lighter world, that had never known the gloom and the stained glass and the ecstasy of chanting. Her husband was obliterated, she was with her father again, who was so fresh and free and all daylight. Her husband, with his intensity and his darkness, was obliterated. She left him, she forgot him, she accepted her father. Yet, as she went home again with the young man, she put her hand on his arm tentatively, a little bit ashamed, her hand pleaded that he would not hold it against her, her recusancy. But he was obscured. He seemed to become blind, as if he were not there with her. Then she was afraid. She wanted him. When he was oblivious of her, she almost went mad with fear. For she had become so vulnerable, so exposed. She was in touch so intimately. All things about her had become intimate, she had known them near and lovely, like presences hovering upon her. What if they should all go hard and separate again, standing back from her terrible and distinct, and she, having known them, should be at their mercy? This frightened her. Always, her husband was to her the unknown to which she was delivered up. She was a flower that has been tempted forth into blossom, and has no retreat. He had her nakedness in his power. And who was he, what was he? A blind thing, a dark force, without knowledge. She wanted to preserve herself. Then she gathered him to herself again and was satisfied for a moment. But as time went on, she began to realize more and more that he did not alter, that he was something dark, alien to herself. She had thought him just the bright reflex of herself. As the weeks and months went by she realized that he was a dark opposite to her, that they were opposites, not complements. He did not alter, he remained separately himself, and he seemed to expect her to be part of himself, the extension of his will. She felt him trying to gain power over her, without knowing her. What did he want? Was he going to bully her? What did she want herself? She answered herself, that she wanted to be happy, to be natural, like the sunlight and the busy daytime. And, at the bottom of her soul, she felt he wanted her to be dark, unnatural. Sometimes, when he seemed like the darkness covering and smothering her, she revolted almost in horror, and struck at him. She struck at him, and made him bleed, and he became wicked. Because she dreaded him and held him in horror, he became wicked, he wanted to destroy. And then the fight between them was cruel. She began to tremble. He wanted to impose himself on her. And he began to shudder. She wanted to desert him, to leave him a prey to the open, with the unclean dogs of the darkness setting on to devour him. He must beat her, and make her stay with him. Whereas she fought to keep herself free of him. They went their ways now shadowed and stained with blood, feeling the world far off, unable to give help. Till she began to get tired. After a certain point, she became impassive, detached utterly from him. He was always ready to burst out murderously against her. Her soul got up and left him, she went her way. Nevertheless in her apparent blitheness, that made his soul black with opposition, she trembled as if she bled. And ever and again, the pure love came in sunbeams between them, when she was like a flower in the sun to him, so beautiful, so shining, so intensely dear that he could scarcely bear it. Then as if his soul had six wings of bliss he stood absorbed in praise, feeling the radiance from the Almighty beat through him like a pulse, as he stood in the upright flame of praise, transmitting the pulse of Creation. And ever and again he appeared to her as the dread flame of power. Sometimes, when he stood in the doorway, his face lit up, he seemed like an Annunciation to her, her heart beat fast. And she watched him, suspended. He had a dark, burning being that she dreaded and resisted. She was subject to him as to the Angel of the Presence. She waited upon him and heard his will, and she trembled in his service. Then all this passed away. Then he loved her for her childishness and for her strangeness to him, for the wonder of her soul which was different from his soul, and which made him genuine when he would be false. And she loved him for the way he sat loosely in a chair, or for the way he came through a door with his face open and eager. She loved his ringing, eager voice, and the touch of the unknown about him, his absolute simplicity. Yet neither of them was quite satisfied. He felt, somewhere, that she did not respect him. She only respected him as far as he was related to herself. For what he was, beyond her, she had no care. She did not care for what he represented in himself. It is true, he did not know himself what he represented. But whatever it was she did not really honour it. She did no service to his work as a lace-designer, nor to himself as bread-winner. Because he went down to the office and worked every day--that entitled him to no respect or regard from her, he knew. Rather she despised him for it. And he almost loved her for this, though at first it maddened him like an insult. What was much deeper, she soon came to combat his deepest feelings. What he thought about life and about society and mankind did not matter very much to her: he was right enough to be insignificant. This was again galling to him. She would judge beyond him on these things. But at length he came to accept her judgments, discovering them as if they were his own. It was not here the deep trouble lay. The deep root of his enmity lay in the fact that she jeered at his soul. He was inarticulate and stupid in thought. But to some things he clung passionately. He loved the Church. If she tried to get out of him, what he believed, then they were both soon in a white rage. Did he believe the water turned to wine at Cana? She would drive him to the thing as a historical fact: so much rain-water-look at it--can it become grape-juice, wine? For an instant, he saw with the clear eyes of the mind and said no, his clear mind, answering her for a moment, rejected the idea. And immediately his whole soul was crying in a mad, inchoate hatred against this violation of himself. It was true for him. His mind was extinguished again at once, his blood was up. In his blood and bones, he wanted the scene, the wedding, the water brought forward from the firkins as red wine: and Christ saying to His mother: "Woman, what have I to do with thee?--mine hour is not yet come." And then: "His mother saith unto the servants, 'Whatsoever he saith unto you, do it.'" Brangwen loved it, with his bones and blood he loved it, he could not let it go. Yet she forced him to let it go. She hated his blind attachments. Water, natural water, could it suddenly and unnaturally turn into wine, depart from its being and at haphazard take on another being? Ah no, he knew it was wrong. She became again the palpitating, hostile child, hateful, putting things to destruction. He became mute and dead. His own being gave him the lie. He knew it was so: wine was wine, water was water, for ever: the water had not become wine. The miracle was not a real fact. She seemed to be destroying him. He went out, dark and destroyed, his soul running its blood. And he tasted of death. Because his life was formed in these unquestioned concepts. She, desolate again as she had been when she was a child, went away and sobbed. She did not care, she did not care whether the water had turned to wine or not. Let him believe it if he wanted to. But she knew she had won. And an ashy desolation came over her. They were ashenly miserable for some time. Then the life began to come back. He was nothing if not dogged. He thought again of the chapter of St. John. There was a great biting pang. "But thou hast kept the good wine until now." "The best wine!" The young man's heart responded in a craving, in a triumph, although the knowledge that it was not true in fact bit at him like a weasel in his heart. Which was stronger, the pain of the denial, or the desire for affirmation? He was stubborn in spirit, and abode by his desire. But he would not any more affirm the miracles as true. Very well, it was not true, the water had not turned into wine. The water had not turned into wine. But for all that he would live in his soul as if the water had turned into wine. For truth of fact, it had not. But for his soul, it had. "Whether it turned into wine or whether it didn't," he said, "it doesn't bother me. I take it for what it is." "And what is it?" she asked, quickly, hopefully. "It's the Bible," he said. That answer enraged her, and she despised him. She did not actively question the Bible herself. But he drove her to contempt. And yet he did not care about the Bible, the written letter. Although he could not satisfy her, yet she knew of herself that he had something real. He was not a dogmatist. He did not believe in fact that the water turned into wine. He did not want to make a fact out of it. Indeed, his attitude was without criticism. It was purely individual. He took that which was of value to him from the Written Word, he added to his spirit. His mind he let sleep. And she was bitter against him, that he let his mind sleep. That which was human, belonged to mankind, he would not exert. He cared only for himself. He was no Christian. Above all, Christ had asserted the brotherhood of man. She, almost against herself, clung to the worship of the human knowledge. Man must die in the body, but in his knowledge he was immortal. Such, somewhere, was her belief, quite obscure and unformulated. She believed in the omnipotence of the human mind. He, on the other hand, blind as a subterranean thing, just ignored the human mind and ran after his own dark-souled desires, following his own tunnelling nose. She felt often she must suffocate. And she fought him off. Then he, knowing he was blind, fought madly back again, frantic in sensual fear. He did foolish things. He asserted himself on his rights, he arrogated the old position of master of the house. "You've a right to do as I want," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool!" "I'll let you know who's master," he cried. "Fool!" she answered. "Fool! I've known my own father, who could put a dozen of you in his pipe and push them down with his finger-end. Don't I know what a fool you are!" He knew himself what a fool he was, and was flayed by the knowledge. Yet he went on trying to steer the ship of their dual life. He asserted his position as the captain of the ship. And captain and ship bored her. He wanted to loom important as master of one of the innumerable domestic craft that make up the great fleet of society. It seemed to her a ridiculous armada of tubs jostling in futility. She felt no belief in it. She jeered at him as master of the house, master of their dual life. And he was black with shame and rage. He knew, with shame, how her father had been a man without arrogating any authority. He had gone on the wrong tack, and he felt it hard to give up the expedition. There was great surging and shame. Then he yielded. He had given up the master-of-the-house idea. There was something he wanted, nevertheless, some form of mastery. Ever and anon, after his collapses into the petty and the shameful, he rose up again, and, stubborn in spirit, strong in his power to start afresh, set out once more in his male pride of being to fulfil the hidden passion of his spirit. It began well, but it ended always in war between them, till they were both driven almost to madness. He said, she did not respect him. She laughed in hollow scorn of this. For her it was enough that she loved him. "Respect what?" she asked. But he always answered the wrong thing. And though she cudgelled her brains, she could not come at it. "Why don't you go on with your wood-carving?" she said. "Why don't you finish your Adam and Eve?" But she did not care for the Adam and Eve, and he never put another stroke to it. She jeered at the Eve, saying, "She is like a little marionette. Why is she so small? You've made Adam as big as God, and Eve like a doll." "It is impudence to say that Woman was made out of Man's body," she continued, "when every man is born of woman. What impudence men have, what arrogance!" In a rage one day, after trying to work on the board, and failing, so that his belly was a flame of nausea, he chopped up the whole panel and put it on the fire. She did not know. He went about for some days very quiet and subdued after it. "Where is the Adam and Eve board?" she asked him. "Burnt." She looked at him. "But your carving?" "I burned it." "When?" She did not believe him. "On Friday night." "When I was at the Marsh?" "Yes." She said no more. Then, when he had gone to work, she wept for a whole day, and was much chastened in spirit. So that a new, fragile flame of love came out of the ashes of this last pain. Directly, it occurred to her that she was with child. There was a great trembling of wonder and anticipation through her soul. She wanted a child. Not that she loved babies so much, though she was touched by all young things. But she wanted to bear children. And a certain hunger in her heart wanted to unite her husband with herself, in a child. She wanted a son. She felt, a son would be everything. She wanted to tell her husband. But it was such a trembling, intimate thing to tell him, and he was at this time hard and unresponsive. So that she went away and wept. It was such a waste of a beautiful opportunity, such a frost that nipped in the bud one of the beautiful moments of her life. She went about heavy and tremulous with her secret, wanting to touch him, oh, most delicately, and see his face, dark and sensitive, attend to her news. She waited and waited for him to become gentle and still towards her. But he was always harsh and he bullied her. So that the buds shrivelled from her confidence, she was chilled. She went down to the Marsh. "Well," said her father, looking at her and seeing her at the first glance, "what's amiss wi' you now?" The tears came at the touch of his careful love. "Nothing," she said. "Can't you hit it off, you two?" he said. "He's so obstinate," she quivered; but her soul was obdurate itself. "Ay, an' I know another who's all that," said her father. She was silent. "You don't want to make yourselves miserable," said her father; "all about nowt." "He isn't miserable," she said. "I'll back my life, if you can do nowt else, you can make him as miserable as a dog. You'd be a dab hand at that, my lass." "I do nothing to make him miserable," she retorted. "Oh no--oh no! A packet o' butterscotch, you are." She laughed a little. "You mustn't think I want him to be miserable," she cried. "I don't." "We quite readily believe it," retorted Brangwen. "Neither do you intend him to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond." This made her think. She was rather surprised to find that she did not intend her husband to be hopping for joy like a fish in a pond. Her mother came, and they all sat down to tea, talking casually. "Remember, child," said her mother, "that everything is not waiting for your hand just to take or leave. You mustn't expect it. Between two people, the love itself is the important thing, and that is neither you nor him. It is a third thing you must create. You mustn't expect it to be just your way." "Ha-nor do I. If I did I should soon find my mistake out. If I put my hand out to take anything, my hand is very soon bitten, I can tell you." "Then you must mind where you put your hand," said her father. Anna was rather indignant that they took the tragedy of her young married life with such equanimity. "You love the man right enough," said her father, wrinkling his forehead in distress. "That's all as counts." "I do love him, more shame to him," she cried. "I want to tell him--I've been waiting for four days now to tell him----" her face began to quiver, the tears came. Her parents watched her in silence. She did not go on. "Tell him what?" said her father. "That we're going to have an infant," she sobbed, "and he's never, never let me, not once, every time I've come to him, he's been horrid to me, and I wanted to tell him, I did. And he won't let me--he's cruel to me." She sobbed as if her heart would break. Her mother went and comforted her, put her arms round her, and held her close. Her father sat with a queer, wrinkled brow, and was rather paler than usual. His heart went tense with hatred of his son-in-law. So that, when the tale was sobbed out, and comfort administered and tea sipped, and something like calm restored to the little circle, the thought of Will Brangwen's entry was not pleasantly entertained. Tilly

belief

How many times the word 'belief' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

phone

How many times the word 'phone' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

how

How many times the word 'how' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

onna

How many times the word 'onna' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

twitches

How many times the word 'twitches' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

end

How many times the word 'end' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

bakersfield

How many times the word 'bakersfield' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

doin

How many times the word 'doin' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

ride

How many times the word 'ride' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

left

How many times the word 'left' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

wall

How many times the word 'wall' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

standing

How many times the word 'standing' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

handsome

How many times the word 'handsome' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

my

How many times the word 'my' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

friend

How many times the word 'friend' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

johnny

How many times the word 'johnny' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

these

How many times the word 'these' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

handing

How many times the word 'handing' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

goes

How many times the word 'goes' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

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How many times the word 'troubles' appears in the text?

you . . . to just . . . to come in and give me a minute so I could tell you how much I love you. It's gonna be a new year and we're gonna start things and do things and I want you to know how much I really care for you, honey. I care for you so much . . . you're my little baby . . . DIRK Thank you, Amber. AMBER You're the best thing in the world that's happened to me since my son went off . . . and I just . . . I love you, honey. DIRK I love you too, Amber. Amber continues to talk as she sets up more lines of coke. AMBER Fucking 1980 . . . y'know? Can you believe it? DIRK I can't . . . it's like . . . next thing we know . . . it's gonna be 1990, then 2000 . . . can you imagine? AMBER Goodbye to 1979 . . . hello to 1980 . . . (handing him a straw) Make sure you snort it back quick and hard . . . DIRK . . . wh . . . ? AMBER Really fast, like this . . . She demonstrates. Dirk hesitates a moment, then leans down and does a line of coke. DIRK It burns. AMBER It's good, though, right? DIRK It's in my throat . . . uch . . . AMBER It's the drip . . . the drip's the best part. DIRK Tastes like aspirin. AMBER Do one more in the other nostril. DIRK . . . I need a glass of water, I think . . . AMBER One more, then the water. Dirk does another line. DIRK Do I look cool when I do it? Amber is right there to KISS him very hard on the mouth. HOLD. CUT TO: 93 INT. JACK'S HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk and Amber emerge from the bedroom and walk back to the party . . . . Amber stops to say hello to some people . . . . Dirk keeps walking . . . CAMERA follows him outside . . . Scotty J. approaches . . . . SCOTTY J. Hey, Dirk. DIRK Scotty. Hey. What's up, man? SCOTTY J. . . . fuckin' New Year's, y'know, right? DIRK 1980. SCOTTY J. Right. Did you see my new car? DIRK You got a new car? SCOTTY J. Yeah. Wanna see? DIRK Sure. CAMERA FOLLOWS them outside, they pass Reed and Todd who are standing near the BBQ pit -- REED Hey, Dirk, c'mere and meet someone. This is Todd, my pal from the thing -- DIRK How are ya? TODD We finally meet. REED Remember I told you about Todd? He works over at the Party Boys Strip Club -- DIRK Oh, cool, cool. You're a dancer? TODD Yeah, I got some moves. SCOTTY J. -- Dirk? Are you coming -- ? DIRK Yeah, okay, Scotty. (to Todd) I'll see you around. We can talk later. CAMERA continues with Dirk and Scotty J. Out to the DRIVEWAY. They check out the USED CANDY-APPLE RED TOYOTA COROLLA. SCOTTY J. This is it. DIRK Cool. SCOTTY J. Wanna get inside? DIRK When did you get this? SCOTTY J. Yesterday. DIRK It's great. It's really great. SCOTTY J. Yeah, you wanna take a ride, or -- DIRK Wait a minute, wait a minute, waitaminute . . . fuckin' hell . . . how much time left? SCOTTY J. Six minutes . . . DIRK Oh, shit! Let's get back inside, come on -- Dirk starts to walk away . . . Scotty watches him go . . . Suddenly: Scotty CHARGES Dirk from behind and starts to KISS his neck. Dirk stumbles, pushes him away and turns: SCOTTY J. I'm sorry, Dirk. Please. I'm sorry. DIRK . . . why'd you do that? SCOTTY J. You look at me sometimes -- DIRK -- What? SCOTTY J. I wanna know if you like me. DIRK . . . yeah . . . Scotty. SCOTTY J. Can I kiss you? DIRK . . . Scott . . . I don't -- SCOTTY J. -- Can I kiss your mouth? Please. Please let me. DIRK No. SCOTTY J. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to grab you . . . I didn't -- DIRK It's alright. SCOTTY J. . . . I'm sorry . . . DIRK . . . it's alright. SCOTTY J. Do you wanna kiss me? DIRK Scotty. SCOTTY J. No, no. Forget it. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry, I'm just drunk. I'm outta my head, okay? DIRK . . . yeah -- SCOTTY J. I'm just crazy, you know? Crazy. Right? I'm so wasted, drunk, drunk -- DIRK You wanna go back inside? SCOTTY J. Do you like my car, Dirk? DIRK What . . . ? Yeah. Yeah. SCOTTY J. I wanted to make sure you thought it was cool or else I was gonna take it back. DIRK Oh. PAUSE. Dirk hesitates . . . then turns and walks back into the house. SCOTTY J. (to himself) I love you, Dirk. CUT TO: 94 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Jack calls out to the crowd of Party People. JACK WE GOT TWO MINUTES, PEOPLE! TWO MINUTES! CUT TO: 95 INT. HALLWAY - THAT MOMENT CAMERA follows Little Bill as he walks the hallway to a closed bathroom door. He opens it. OVER LITTLE BILL'S SHOULDER, INSIDE THE BATHROOM Little Bill's WIFE is getting FUCKED DOGGY STYLE by yet ANOTHER YOUNG STUD. She looks at him. LITTLE BILL'S WIFE You should be taking notes, Little Bill. ANOTHER YOUNG STUD This is a fresh cunt, pal. Little Bill stands a moment, then closes the door. CAMERA LEADS him as he walks back through the party . . . outside to the pool area and into the driveway for his Station Wagon. He takes the keys from his pocket, unlocks the passenger side door, reaches into the glove compartment and takes out a .38 REVOLVER and AMMUNITION. CAMERA FOLLOWS him now as he heads back across the driveway, back through the pool area, loading the gun as he walks . . . People begin counting off to the New Year -- PARTY PEOPLE 10 . . . 9 . . . 8 . . . 7 . . . Little Bill walks into the house, down the hallway -- PARTY PEOPLE . . . 6 . . . 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Little Bill arrives at the Bathroom door and SMASHES IT OPEN: His Wife and the Young Stud are still fucking . . . PARTY PEOPLE (OC) . . . HAPPY NEW YEAR! Little Bill FIRES THE REVOLVER INTO HIS WIFE'S NAKED STOMACH. He FIRES THE GUN AGAIN, STRIKING THE YOUNG STUD IN THE HEART. THEY BOTH COLLAPSE AND FALL TO THE FLOOR OF THE BATHROOM. BLOOD SPLATTERS LITTLE BILL . . . . . . . EVERYONE IN THE PARTY JUMPS AT THE SOUND OF THE GUNSHOTS . . . . . . LITTLE BILL FIRES ANOTHER SHOT INTO HIS WIFE . . . . . . BLOOD AND SMOKE FILL THE BATHROOM . . . . . . LITTLE BILL TURNS AROUND, FACES THE PARTY PEOPLE AND SHOVES THE REVOLVER IN HIS MOUTH AND PULLS THE TRIGGER . . . BLOOD AND BRAINS SHOOT OUT THE BACK OF HIS SKULL AND HE COLLAPSES, FALLING OUT OF FRAME. TITLE CARD READS: "80s" FADE OUT. OVER BLACK, WE HEAR THE VOICE: AMBER (OC) . . . what about your character, "Brock Landers," and what some people might consider violent attitudes towards women? CUT TO: Sequence "C" 96 INT. DIRK'S HOUSE/BALCONY - DAY - DOCUMENTARY FOOTAGE (16mm) Dirk is doing an interview. He's unshaven, thin and sweating, wearing sunglasses. He speaking quickly to Amber OC. (1982) DIRK violence . . . ? No, what? I mean, if there's something in this series of movies that's like action or violence or whatever -- that's the movie. Y'know? Look: I'm not saying that these movies are for the whole family, but they've gotalotta action and sometimes the characters are women who are -- say -- spies or drug smugglers or working for some organization that my character is trying to . . . defeat. We've made twenty of these films in the past um . . . um . . . five years, since 77 . . . and this kind of talk has only come up in the past year or so . . . I mean: What's the problem? So -- y'know. CUT TO: 97 INT. BROCK LANDERS BEDROOM SET - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP Dirk is in his underwear, asleep in bed. An actress named KC SUNSHINE plays in the scene with him as an Indian woman, wrapped in a sheet. She enters, holding a knife, coming towards Dirk . . AMBER (VO) If Brock Landers is slick with a gun, he does so only in the vein of good and right. Brock protects the values of the American ideal and fights for causes that instill pride in a society where morals are hard to come by -- Dirk wakes in the scene, struggles with KC Sunshine, knocks the knife from her hand and pins her down. The scene plays; DIRK WHO SENT YOU? KC SUNSHINE GET THE FUCK OFF ME, ASSHOLE. DIRK LAY STILL, I'LL PUNCH YOU IN THE GODDAMN FACE. KC SUNSHINE FUCK OFF. Dirk SMACKS her then starts to KISS her breasts softly. CUT TO: 98 INT. ALLEY WAY - NIGHT - 16mm FILM CLIP In the scene, Dirk has Becky (playing a PROSTITUTE) up against a wall. He's right in her face, holding his fist up . . . The scene: DIRK I'm onna ask once more and I'm onna ask you nice . . . WHERE THE FUCK IS RINGO, YOU BITCH? BECKY Fuck you. Dirk SLAPS her across the face. BECKY Ohhh . . . do it again, mayble I'll get my pussy wet next time. BUCK arrives playing a PIMP and aims a REVOLVER at Dirk. BUCK HEY CRACKERJACK, WATCHYOU DOIN' WIT MY WOMAN? Just then: REED appears with a GUN aimed at Buck. REED Make another move, motherfucker and give me a good goddamn reason to blow you away! 99 OMITTED 100 OMITTED 101 OMITTED 102 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Rollergirl's Interview/TBA 103 OMITTED ** Director's Note: Jessie's Interview/TBA 104 OMITTED 105 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - DAY - DOCU FOOTAGE Jack and Dirk are sitting behind a Moviola for the interview with Amber. Dirk speaks very quickly . . . DIRK BLOCK . . . uh . . . an idea or a movement. Jack will put the final touches on what the camera needs for editing -- but, uh -- He allows me to block my own sex scenes. . . . and . . . he gives me flexibility to work with the character and develop, y'know . . . I don't know of any other directors that would let an actor -- uh -- do that. JACK I don't let you block your own sex scenes. Jack and Amber laugh. Dirk laughs a little less. CUT TO: 106 EXT. VENTURA BLVD. - DUSK - DOCU. FOOTAGE Footage of Dirk walking along the street as the sun goes down. Amber narrates. AMBER (OC) For Dirk Diggler, the future is something to look forward to, not to fear . . . He is a creative man of many interests . . . film, poetry, karate, music and dance . . . he is a man of passion and mystery . . . He Is A Man Of Lust. FADE OUT, CUT TO: End Sequence "C". 107 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/EDITING ROOM - NIGHT (May 82) Dirk and Amber, sitting in front of the Steenbeck. She flips it off and looks to him; AMBER It's my poem to you. DIRK It's great. It's so great, Amber. You're a director now. Shit. Have you showed Jack? AMBER Just you. I wanted to show you first. DIRK It's so fuckin' good. Really. (beat) Maybe you might want to think about cutting that part when Jack says that thing about -- y'know -- AMBER Blocking the sex -- DIRK -- yeah. CUT TO: 108 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - NIGHT - MOMENTS LATER Dirk and Amber walk out and into the living room, CAMERA SWINGS 180 OVER TO: Jack and Reed, sitting at the kitchen counter; JACK How was it? At that moment the PHONE RINGS, CAMERA WHIPS OVER to the phone. It rings again. Jack picks it up. DOLLY/ZOOM IN QUICK. JACK Hello? Colonel? Wait, wait, wait. Yes. Calm down. Calm down. Okay. Right Now -- Yes -- Right Now. He slams the phone down. CUT TO: 109 INT. POLICE STATION - HOLDING AREA - NIGHT The Colonel is sitting in handcuffs, crying his eyes out. Jack sits across from him, speaking through the glass. COLONEL . . . she was fifteen . . . fifteen . . . I didn't know . . . Jack, you gotta believe me. JACK I believe you. COLONEL I told her not to do so much coke, but she wouldn't listen, she just kept doing it and doing it like she was a vacuum. Like she had a vacuum in her nose or something . . . . . . . next thing I know . . . she's got blood coming from her nose and . . . jesus . . . her, jesus -- JACK What? COLONEL It was coming out her ass, Jack. JACK Okay. It's gonna be okay. Just relax. The bail is a hundred thousand dollars. I don't have that kind of cash -- COLONEL -- I don't have any money left. JACK What do you mean? Nothing? The Colonel shakes his head a little, doesn't answer. JACK Well . . . what . . . how? COLONEL I spent it . . . I spent it. JACK The films . . . or . . . I mean? COLONEL I spent it, alright? This shit gets expensive. Between you shooting film, the coke, the limos, the houses. It goes, alright? I spent it. JACK Alright, okay. Don't worry. COLONEL I can't have this happen to me. I'm a good man, right? JACK Yes you are. COLONEL I didn't know -- I didn't know she was gonna die right there with me or I wouldn't have picked her up. JACK Right. You know; you've done nothing wrong. I mean, look; You were just there, right? You didn't . . . I mean . . . you didn't do anything. COLONEL They found something in my house, Jack. JACK What? COLONEL . . . something . . . JACK . . . what are you saying? What did they find? COLONEL . . . it's my fuckin' weakness, Jack. They're . . . so small and cute I can't help myself, Jack. I can't help it when they're so small and cute. I just want to watch, I don't do anything, Jack. I've never touched one of them . . . JACK Jesus Christ, Colonel. COLONEL You look at me like I'm an asshole, now. JACK . . . I . . . I don't . . . ? COLONEL I'm going to jail for a long time. JACK -- it's okay, Colonel. It's gonna be fine in the end . . . . I promise . . . COLONEL Are you promising me? Jack doesn't answer. COLONEL Take it back, Jack. Don't promise me anything. You can't help me. I'm done. I'm going to jail. I've done wrong and I'm going to jail for a long, long time. They hold a look for a moment. A few OFFICERS come and start to escort the Colonel away. He leans in, speaks sotto; COLONEL Listen to me, Jack: And I'm gonna tell you this for you. Am I your friend? JACK What? COLONEL Answer me, am I your friend? JACK Yes. COLONEL So remember that I'm your friend and listen to what I tell you now: Give in, Jack. You've gotta give. For you, for your business and your livelihood -- accept the future. Don't fight it, because you can't win. Look for the new blood, go to Floyd Gondolli, go to video, give up your battle -- the filmmaking is over, Jack. The Officers take him away. Jack watches him leave. DOLLY IN CLOSE ON JACK. CUT TO: 110 INT. JACK'S HOUSE/OFFICE - DAY CAMERA HOLDS A LOW ANGLE, LOOKING UP AT JACK, KURT and ROCKY. They look into CAMERA. HOLD. JACK Well there we go. KURT LONGJOHN Yeah. ROCKY Lot of stuff on there to learn. JACK That's it. KURT LONGJOHN No turning back now. JACK The future. KURT LONGJOHN That's right. ROCKY The quality is, uh -- JACK It's not what we're used to. KURT LONGJOHN We can make it work, I think. ROCKY It's . . . potential . . . KURT LONGJOHN Yes. JACK You can't beat the price. KURT LONGJOHN No you can't. JACK This is the future and we can't deny it anymore because the past is too expensive. KURT LONGJOHN I'm scared. ROCKY Me too. JACK It's gonna make us rich. KURT LONGJOHN Yep. ROCKY It's a rather pretty thing, isn't it? REVERSE ANGLE: A new VIDEO CAMERA is sitting on the table in front of them. This is the thing they've been discussing. KURT LONGJOHN We can still tell good stories, Jack. JACK No. It's about jacking off now, Kurt. No more stories . . . that's over. CUT TO: 111 INT. HOT TRAXX NIGHTCLUB - NIGHT (Dec. 82) BECKY looks into CAMERA; BECKY I do. JEROME looks into CAMERA; JEROME I do too. CU - BLACK AND WHITE SNAPSHOT Becky and Jerome kissing. Jack as Best Man. Amber as Bridesmaid. CAMERA on the dance floor; Becky, dressed in a WHITE BRIDAL DRESS and Jerome, dressed in a TUXEDO. Reed is dancing with them. BECKY They made Jerome regional manager of the new "Pep Boys," they're building in Bakersfield. We're gonna move there. Buy a house. REED That's great, guys. That's so great. JEROME It's gonna be a great opportunity to run the store my way. Y'know. Get those guys off my back and run the store my way. CAMERA picks up and follows Dirk who walks over to Jack's table -- ANGLE, JACK'S TABLE Jack is sitting with a handsome young kid, JOHNNY DOE (aged 18.) Dirk arrives; JACK . . . and it's tough is what I'm saying. JOHNNY DOE Right. JACK Hey, Dirk -- here you are. You havin' a good time? DIRK Uh-huh. (re: Johnny Doe) Who's this? JOHNNY DOE Hi . . . I'm Johnny Doe. You're Dirk Diggler -- it's great to meet you. JACK Dirk, meet Johnny Doe . . . New Kid On The Block. He's interested in the business. Dirk nods his head, picks up his sunglasses from the table and walks off across the dance floor. Jack turns back to Johnny Doe; JACK He's pretty tired, Johnny. He's also shy. Anyway: What I'm saying to you is this: It costs money, you got ten, fifteen people standing around, and that's just to make sure the lighting is right -- Jack continues chatting with Johnny Doe, he looks away for a moment. JACK'S POV: Dirk meets up with Todd Parker and they walk out the door. (40fps) Jack turns back to Johnny Doe. Continue a bit with party stuff/etc. Jack has his dance w/Becky. CUT TO: 112 EXT. JACK'S POOL AREA - DAY (Jan. 83) CAMERA begins with Kurt and Rocky standing nearby the VIDEO CAMERA. Reed is watching them try and figure it out. Jack is waiting patiently, working on a crossword puzzle. Johnny Doe is swimming in the pool. Rollergirl moves past and CAMERA follows her into -- CUT TO: 113 INT. JACK'S HOUSE - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk is dressed in Speedos and a headband for the scene and laying out some coke on the table. Rollergirl arrives, she does some. The television in the b.g. is tuned to MTV which is playing "Video Killed the Radio Star." ROLLERGIRL This stuff burns. DIRK It's crystal. ROLLERGIRL That's why. Shit, why didn't you tell me -- you don't need to do that much -- You only have to do bumps with crystal. DIRK Yeah, well . . . mind your own business or get your own or whatever -- ROLLERGIRL You don't have to be mean about it. Rollergirl skates off. Dirk looks out the window, sees Johnny Doe swimming. Amber is speaking to him. CAMERA DOLLIES IN A LITTLE (30fps) ON DIRK. CUT TO: 114 INT. BEDROOM - THAT MOMENT Maurice is sitting on the edge of the bed, shaking and sweating. Rollergirl enters and moves to a closet. MAURICE Hey . . . Rollergirl . . . hey. ROLLERGIRL What's wrong? MAURICE Where? ROLLERGIRL With you? MAURICE Me? -- Nothing -- Why? ROLLERGIRL You look like a wreck. MAURICE Shit no, I'm cool as a cucumber. Rollergirl takes off her clothes and gets into her BIKINI. ROLLERGIRL It's your big day -- bein' in a movie. MAURICE Yeah. ROLLERGIRL What you always wanted. MAURICE I'm very thankful to Jack for giving me the chance. BEAT. MAURICE Rollergirl? ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick is really small. ROLLERGIRL What? MAURICE My dick . . . it's small. ROLLERGIRL How small? MAURICE Really small. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . uh . . . so? MAURICE So I can't do this. ROLLERGIRL Can you get a boner? MAURICE I don't think so. ROLLERGIRL Well . . . MAURICE Please. Can you help me? ROLLERGIRL How? MAURICE I dunno. ROLLERGIRL If you've got a small dick, there's really nothing I can do, Maurice. MAURICE . . . right . . . right . . . ROLLERGIRL Just go for it, man. MAURICE What do you mean? ROLLERGIRL Just go for it . . . who cares if you've got a small dick. It's how you use it, right? You can get a boner, I bet. I know you can. MAURICE I guess. ROLLERGIRL Be a man about it. MAURICE Right. Right. I have to be a man about it. I have to do this . . . I have to show my brothers in Puerto Rico the lifestyle that I'm living. I can do it . . . I can do it. ROLLERGIRL You'll do fine. MAURICE Right. ROLLERGIRL C'mon. MAURICE No . . . no . . . I wanna stay here for a bit -- ROLLERGIRL Okay . . . I'll be out there. She exits. HOLD with Maurice a moment. CUT TO: 115 OMITTED 116 INT. BATHROOM - DAY - THAT MOMENT Dirk enters, closes the door, looks in the mirror; DIRK . . . yeah, yeah, yeah . . . You look good, ready. Dirk does some quick KARATE moves, then turns his BACK TO THE CAMERA. He unzips his pants, looks down at his cock. His body starts to move a little, slowly at first then faster as he tries to masturbate. DIRK C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a rock and roll star. And My Cock Can Get Hard. C'mon . . . c'mon . . . c'mon . . . I'm a star. I'm a star, I'm a star, I'm a star. The DOOR to the Bathroom is SUDDENLY OPENED by Scotty J. who catches Dirk in the mirror with his pants down, speaking to himself; DIRK -- what the fuck -- Scotty exits quickly. Dirk pulls up his pants and exits -- CUT TO: 117 EXT. JACK'S HOUSE/POOL AREA - DAY - MOMENTS LATER Jack is still sitting in the same spot. Johnny Doe is drying off. Dirk comes charging out -- DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK We need twenty minutes. DIRK No. I'm ready now. It's gotta be now. JACK Twenty minutes. DIRK Fuck it. Hey, no, hey, Jack. I'm ready now . . . my cock is ready now. I'm ready to fuck . . . let's go now. JACK Yeah, well . . . NO. Get me. You wanna start something here, Dirk? DIRK I wanna start fucking . . . who is it gonna be? JACK What? DIRK Who do you want to fuck, me or him? Dirk points at Johnny Doe. JOHNNY DOE Me . . . what? DIRK Shut up. JOHNNY DOE I didn't do anything to you. DIRK You're not an actor, man. You got no business being here -- you're not an actor -- JOHNNY DOE Yes I am. DIRK No: I'm an actor, man. I'm a real actor. JOHNNY DOE Shut up. Dirk MAKES A QUICK KARATE-TYPE MOVE TOWARDS JOHNNY DOE, WHO FLINCHES, BUT QUICKLY GETS INTO A KARATE STANCE OF HIS OWN. JOHNNY DOE HEY, MAN, DON'T. DIRK SHUT UP. SHUT UP. JACK Dirk, you need to settle down. Go inside, have a drink and mellow this off . . . you understand? DIRK I'm ready to shoot. JACK Well I'm not. DIRK I'm not gonna tell you again, Jack: JACK -- Get outta here. DIRK . . . What . . . ? JACK Get off my set, get outta my house. DIRK . . . you . . . what? JACK Leave. DIRK No. JACK You don't want to do this -- the state you're in, Dirk. DIRK Whatta you mean, state? State? State of California? Yeah, I'm in the state of California. JACK Jesus Christ. DIRK What are you, Jack, Jack, hey -- JACK You're high and you need to sleep it off. You've been up for two days. DIRK I haven't been up for two days. JACK Whatever. You're high and you need to come down. Sleep it off, Dirk. DIRK YOU DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING. JACK Get the fuck outta here. DIRK YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME. JACK Yes I am. DIRK ARE YOU THE KING? HUH? JACK Jesus Christ. MOVE. GET OUT. GO. Jack starts to prod Dirk a little with a slight PUSH. DIRK DON'T YOU FUCKIN TOUCH ME, MAN. Jack SLAPS Dirk across the face. HOLD. Dirk is shocked. Everyone has stopped what they're doing by now and is watching nervously. Amber comes over. AMBER Dirk, honey, why don't we go for a walk -- DIRK YOU SHUT UP, TOO. YOU'RE NOT THE MOTHER OF ME OR MY BOSS. YOU'RE NOT MY MOTHER. AMBER Dirk, please, honey. JACK Reed -- Reed comes over to the fight. JACK Take him home, Reed. I don't need this. DIRK No. No. I wanna shoot the scene. I'm ready to shoot the scene. I'm fine. JACK I don't want you here. DIRK Look . . . it's over . . . alright. I'm done . . . now I'm ready to shoot. I'm calm, my cock is cool and ready. REED Why don't we go home, Dirk? DIRK I'm the one with the cock, I'm the one with the big fucking cock, so let's go -- JACK You listen to me now, kid -- DIRK DON'T CALL ME A KID. I'LL FUCK YOU UP. YOU WANNA SEE ME KICK SOME ASS? YOU WANNA FUCK WITH ME, I KNOW KARATE. SO C'MON. REED Dirk, let's be cool, let's -- DIRK I'm the biggest star here -- THAT'S THE WAY IT IS: I WANNA FUCK. AND IT'S MY BIG DICK, SO EVERYBODY GET READY. JACK Not anymore. DIRK WHAT? What "not anymore"? JACK Your dick. DIRK WHAT, WHAT? SAY IT. JACK I've seen you push thirteen inches, you'd be lucky if you could manage six today -- all the coke you got in you. You're not ready to fuck, your dick's not getting hard today, kid. DIRK DON'T YOU TALK ABOUT ME LIKE THAT, JACK. JACK Alright: You're fired. Okay? You understand? You're fired. Get outta here now. NOW. DIRK WHAT? WHAT IS THAT? WHAT IS THAT? JACK Just leave, Dirk. Leave RIGHT NOW. DIRK My cock is READY. YOU WANNA SEE? HUH? YOU WANNA SEE MY BIG FUCKIN' COCK? Suddenly, blood begins to pour violently from his nose. He cups his hand over his nose, hides his embarrassment; DIRK FUCK THIS, FUCK THIS, FUCK YOU. FUCK ALL OF YOU. YOU'RE NOT MY BOSSES. NO ONE IS THE KING OF ME. Dirk runs away, gets behind the wheel of his Corvette and tears off, bleeding all the way -- Reed, Jack, Amber, Scotty, Johnny Doe and the rest of the crew watch him go. FADE OUT. 118 OMITTED CUT TO: 119 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - DAY (Mar. 83) Sequence "D" Dirk stands in front of a microphone wearing headphones. The ENGINEER in the booth speaks; ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk, you ready? DIRK I was born ready, man. ENGINEER Okay . . . Dirk Diggler Demo Tape, "You Got The Touch," take seven . . . The BAND kicks in and Dirk begins to sing his song. It's a cross between Kenny Loggins/Survivor and any "Rocky" anthem. DIRK YOU GOT THE TOUCH . . . YOU GOT THE POWER. YEEEEAAAHHHH. AFTER ALL IS SAID AND DONE, YOU NEVER WALK, YOU NEVER RUN, YOU'RE A WINNER. CUT TO: 120 INT. RECORDING BOOTH - LATER Dirk, Reed and the Engineer are mixing. The song PLAYS. DIRK Is the bass taking away from the vocals? ENGINEER Well . . . a little . . . but not really too much. DIRK Let's take down the bass and let's take up the vocals. CUT TO: 121 INT. RECORDING STUDIO - LATER Dirk is singing. Reed is playing guitar on a BALLAD

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

looked

How many times the word 'looked' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

felt

How many times the word 'felt' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

human

How many times the word 'human' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

exercised

How many times the word 'exercised' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

less

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

killing

How many times the word 'killing' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

surrounded

How many times the word 'surrounded' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

clyffurde

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

pillows

How many times the word 'pillows' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

four

How many times the word 'four' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

city

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

very

How many times the word 'very' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

voice

How many times the word 'voice' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

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How many times the word 'green' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

ambition

How many times the word 'ambition' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

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How many times the word 'devil' appears in the text?

you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

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you do about the children?" "Mother is coming to look after them. I'll be back in time to hear Harry's lessons, I suppose." "Why, of course; but, look here, you'll be awfully sore. You haven't ridden after the hounds since I knew you. You might even get a fall." "I used to go, though, a great deal--and it won't hurt me to be stiff for a few days. Besides, I want to take up hunting again." Her motive was beyond him--perhaps because of her nearness, which prevented his getting the proper perspective of vision. For all his keenness of insight, he failed utterly to see into the mysterious mind of his wife. He could not penetrate that subtle interplay of traditional virtues and discover that she was in the clutch of one of the oldest and most savage of the passions. "Then you'd better go to bed early and get some sleep," he said. "I suppose we'll have a cup of coffee before starting." "I'll make it on the oil stove while I am dressing. Marthy won't be up then." "Well, I'll come upstairs in ten minutes," he replied, taking up his paper again. "I only want to finish this article." In the morning when she opened the old green shutters and looked out of the window, the horses, having been saddled by candlelight, were standing under the mulberry tree at the gate. Eight years ago, in her girlhood, she would have awakened in a delicious excitement on the morning of a fox-hunt, and have dressed as eagerly as if she were going to a ball; but to-day, while she lit the oil-stove in the hall room and put on the kettle of water, she was supported not by the hope of pleasure, but by a dull, an almost indefinable sensation of dread. The instinct of woman to adjust her personality to the changing ideals of the man she loves--this instinct older than civilization, rooted in tragedy, and existing by right of an unconquerable necessity--rose superior at the moment to that more stable maternal passion with which it has conflicted since the beginning of motherhood. While she put on her riding-habit and tied up the plait of her hair, the one thought in Virginia's mind was that she must be, at all costs, the kind of woman that Oliver wanted. A little later, when they set out under the mulberry trees, she glanced at him wistfully, as though she wanted him to praise the way she looked in the saddle. But his eyes were on the end of the street, where a little company of riders awaited them, and before she could ask a question, Abby's high voice was heard exclaiming pleasantly upon her presence. Not a particularly imposing figure, because of her rather short legs, when she was on the ground, it was impossible for Virginia to deny that Abby was amazingly handsome on horseback. Plump, dark, with a superb bosom, and a colour in her cheeks like autumnal berries, she had never appeared to better advantage than she did, sitting on her spirited bay mare under an arch of scarlet leaves which curved over her head. Turning at their approach, she started at a brisk canter up the road, and as Virginia followed her, the sound of the horn floated, now loud, now faint, out of the pale mist that spun fanciful silken webs over the trees and bushes. "Remember to look out for the creeks. That's where the danger comes," said Oliver, riding close to her, and he added nervously, "Don't try to keep up with Abby." Ahead of them stretched a deserted Virginia road, with its look of brooding loneliness, as if it had waited patiently through the centuries for a civilization which had never come; and on the right of it, beyond a waste of scarlet sumach and sassafras and a winding creek screened in elder bushes, the dawn was breaking slowly under a single golden-edged cloud. Somebody on Virginia's left--a large, raw-boned, passionate huntsman, in an old plum-coloured overcoat with a velvet collar--was complaining loudly that they had started too late and the fox would have gone to his lair before they reached the main party. Except for an oath, which he rapped out by way of an emphasis not intended for the ladies, he might have been conducting a religious revival, so solemnly energetic, so deeply moved, was his manner. The hunt, which observed naturally the characteristics of a society that was ardently individualistic even in its sports, was one of those informal, "go-as-you-please" affairs in which the supreme joy of killing is not hampered by tedious regulations or unnecessary restrictions. The chief thing was to get a run--to start a rare red fox, if luck was good, because he was supposed to run straight by nature and not to move in circles after the inconsiderate manner of the commoner grey sort. But Providence, being inattentive to the needs of hunters in the neighbourhood of Dinwiddie, had decreed that the red fox should live there mainly in the vivid annals of old sportsmen. "A grey fox with red ears. The best run I ever had. Tried to get in the crotch of a hickory tree at the end. Was so exhausted he couldn't stir a foot when the hounds got him." While they waited at the crossroads before a little country store, where the pack of hounds, lean, cringing, habitually hungry creatures, started from beneath an old field pine on the right, Virginia heard the broken phrases blown on the wind, which carried the joyous notes of the horn over the meadows. The casual cruelty of the words awoke no protest in her mind, because it was a cruelty to which she was accustomed. If the sport had been unknown in Dinwiddie, and she had read of it as the peculiar activity of the inhabitants of the British Islands, she would probably have condemned it as needlessly brutal and degrading. But with that universal faculty of the human mind to adjust its morality to fit its inherited physical habits, she regarded "the rights of the fox" to-day with something of the humorous scorn of sentimental rubbish with which her gentler grandmother had once regarded "the rights of the slave." For centuries the hunt had been one of the cherished customs of Dinwiddians; and though she could not bear to see a fly caught in a web, it would never have occurred to her to question the humanity of any sport in which her ancestors had delighted. In her girlhood the sound of the horn had called to her blood with all the intoxicating associations it awoke in the raw-boned, energetic rider in the plum-coloured coat--but to-day both the horn and the familiar landscape around her had grown strange and unhomelike. For the first time since her birth she and the country were out of harmony. In the midst of the hounds, in the centre of the old field on the right, the huntsman, who was at the same time master and owner of the dogs, brandished a long raw-hide whip, flexible from the handle, which was pleasantly known in Dinwiddie as a "mule-skinner." His face, burned to the colour of ripe wheat, wore a rapt and exalted look, as though the chasing of a small animal to its death had called forth his latent spiritual ardours. Beyond him, like a low, smouldering fire, ran the red and gold of the abandoned field. "Please be careful, Virginia," said Oliver again, as they left the road and cantered in the direction of a clump of pine woods in a hollow beyond a rotting "snake" fence. But she had seen his eyes on Abby a minute before, and had heard his laugh as he answered her. A wave of recklessness broke over her, and she felt that she despised fear with all her Pendleton blood, which loved a fight only less passionately than it loved a sermon. Whatever happened--if she broke her neck--she resolved that she would keep up with Abby! With the drumming of the blood in her ears, an almost savage joy awoke in her. Deep down in her, so deep that it was buried beneath the Virginia Pendleton whom she and her world knew, there stirred faintly the seeds of that ancient lust of cruelty from which have sprung the brutal pleasures of men. The part of her--that small secret part--which was primitive answered to the impulse of jealousy as it did to the rapturous baying of the hounds out of the red and gold distance. A branch grazed her cheek; her hat went as she raced down the high banks of a stream; the thicket of elder tore the ribbon from her head, and loosened her dark flying hair from its braid. In that desolate country, in the midst of the October meadows, with the cries of the hounds rising, like the voice of mortal tragedy, out of the tinted mist on the marshes, the drama of human passions--which is the only drama for the world's stage--was played out to an ending: love, jealousy, envy, desire, desperation, regret-- But when the hunt was over, and she rode home, with a bedraggled brush, which had once been grey, tied to her bridle, all the gorgeous pageantry of the autumnal landscape seemed suddenly asking her: "What is the use?" Her mood had altered, and she felt that her victory was as worthless as the mud-stained fox's brush that swung mockingly back and forth from her bridle. The excitement of the chase had ebbed away, leaving only the lifeless satisfaction of the reward. She had neglected her children, she had risked her life--and all for the sake of wresting a bit of dead fur out of Abby's grasp. A spirit which was not her spirit, which was so old that she no longer recognized that it had any part in her, which was yet so young that it burned in her heart with the unquenchable flame of youth--this spirit, which was at the same time herself and not herself, had driven her, as helpless as a fallen leaf, in a chase that she despised, towards a triumph that was worthless. "By Jove, you rode superbly, Virginia! I had no idea you could do it," said Oliver, as they trotted into Dinwiddie. She smiled back at him, and her smile was tired, dust-stained, enigmatical. "No, you did not know that I could do it," she answered. "You'll keep it up now, won't you?" he asked pleadingly. For an instant, looking away from him over the radiant fields, she pondered the question. The silence which had settled around her was unbroken by the sound of the horses' hoofs, by the laughter of the hunters, by the far-off soughing of the pine trees in the forest; and into this silence, which seemed to cover an eternity, the two Virginias--the Virginia who desired and the Virginia who had learned from the ages to stifle her desire--wrestled for the first time together. "Virginia!" floated Abby's breezy tones from the street behind her, and turning, she rode back to the Goodes' gate, where the others were dismounting. "Virginia, aren't you going to Atlantic City with us to-morrow?" Again she hesitated. Almost unconsciously her gaze passed from Abby to Oliver, and she saw his pride in her in the smile with which he watched her. "Yes, I'll go with you," she replied after a minute. She had, for once in her life, done the thing she wanted to do simply because she wanted to do it. She had won back what she was losing; she had fought a fair fight and she had triumphed; yet as she rode down the street to her gate, there was none of the exultation of victory, none of the fugitive excitement of pleasure even in her heart. Like other mortals in other triumphant instants, she was learning that the fruit of desire may be sweet to the eyes and bitter on the lips. She had sacrificed duty to pleasure, and suddenly she had discovered that to one with her heritage of good and evil the two are inseparable. CHAPTER VIII THE PANG OF MOTHERHOOD In the night Harry awoke crying. He had dreamed, he said between his sobs, when Virginia, slipperless and in her nightdress, bent over him, that his mother was going away from him forever. "Only for two nights, darling. Here, lean close against mother. Don't you know that she wouldn't stay away from her precious boy?" "But two nights are so long. Aren't two nights almost forever?" "Why, my lamb, it was just two nights ago that grandma came over and told you the Bible story about Joseph and his brothers. That was only a teeny-weeny time ago, wasn't it?" "But you were here, then mamma. And this morning was almost forever. You stayed out so long that Lucy said you weren't coming back any more." "That was naughty of Lucy because she is old enough to know better. Why do you choke that way? Does your throat hurt you?" "It hurts because you are going away, mamma." "But I'm going only to be with papa, precious. Don't you want poor papa to have somebody with him?" "He's so big he can go by himself. But suppose the black man should come in the night while you are away, and I'd get scared and nobody would hear me." "Grandma would hear you, Harry, and there isn't any black man that comes in the night. You must put that idea out of your head, dear. You're getting too big a boy to be afraid of the dark." "Four isn't big, is it?" "You're nearer five than four now, honey. Let me button your nightgown, and lie down and try to go to sleep while mamma sings to you. Does your throat really hurt you?" "It feels as if it had teensy-weensy marbles in it. They came there when I woke up in the dark and thought that you were going away to-morrow." "Well, if your throat hurts you, of course mamma won't leave you. Open your mouth wide now so I can look at it." She lighted a candle while Harry, kneeling in the middle of his little bed, followed her with his blue eyes, which looked three times their usual size because of his flushed cheeks and his mounting excitement. His throat appeared slightly inflamed when she held the candle close to it, and after tucking him beneath the bed-clothes, she poured a little camphorated oil into a cup and heated it on the small alcohol lamp she kept in the nursery. "Mamma is going to put a nice bandage on your throat, and then she is going to lie down beside you and sing you to sleep," she said cheerfully, as she cut off a strip of flannel from an old petticoat and prepared to saturate it with the heated oil. "Will you stay here all night?" "All night, precious, if you'll be good and go fast asleep while I am singing." Holding tightly to her nightdress, Harry cuddled down between the pillows with a contented sigh. "Then I don't mind about the marbles in my throat," he said. "But mamma minds, and she wants to cure them before morning. Now lie very still while she wraps this good flannel bandage over the sore places." "I'll lie very still if you'll hold me, mamma." Blowing out the candle, she crept into the little bed beside him, and lay singing softly until his hands released their desperate grasp of her nightdress, and he slipped quietly off to sleep. Even then, remembering her promise, she did not go back to her bedroom until daylight. "I wonder what makes Harry so afraid of the dark?" she asked, when Oliver awoke and turned questioningly towards her. "He worked himself really sick last night just from pure nervousness. I had to put camphorated oil on his throat and chest, and lie beside him until morning. He is sleeping quietly now, but it simply frightens me to death when one of them complains of sore throat." "You've spoiled him, that's what's the matter," replied Oliver, yawning. "As long as you humour him, he'll never outgrow these night terrors." "But how can you tell whether the fright makes him sick or sickness brings on the fright? His throat was really red, there's no doubt about that, but I couldn't see last night that it was at all ulcerated." "He gives you more trouble than both the other children put together." "Well, he's a boy, and boys do give one more trouble. But, then, you have less patience with him, Oliver." "That's because he's a boy, and I like boys to show some pluck even when they are babies. Lucy and Jenny never raise these midnight rows whenever they awake in the dark." "They are not nearly so sensitive. You don't understand Harry." "Perhaps I don't, but I can see that you are ruining him." "Oh, Oliver! How can you say such a cruel thing to me?" "I didn't mean to be cruel, Jinny, and you know it, but all the same it makes me positively sick to see you make a slave of yourself over the children. Why, you look as if you hadn't slept for a week. You are positively haggard." "But I have to be up with Harry when he is ill. How in the world could I help it?" "You know he kicks up these rows almost every night, and you humour every one of his whims as if it were the first one. Don't you ever get tired?" "Of course I do, but I can't let my child suffer even if it is only from fear. You haven't any patience, Oliver. Don't you remember the time when you used to be afraid of things?" "I was never afraid of the dark in my life. No sensible child is, if he is brought up properly." "Do you mean I am not bringing up my children----" Her tears choked her and she could not finish the sentence. "I don't mean anything except that you are making an old woman of yourself before your time. You've let yourself go until you look ten years older than----" He checked himself in time, but she understood without his words that he had started to say, "ten years older than Abby." Yes, Abby did look young--amazingly young--but, then, what else had she to think of? She lay down, but she was trembling so violently that she sat up quickly again in order to recover her self-possession more easily. It seemed to her that the furious beating of her heart must make him understand how he had wounded her. It was the first discussion approaching a quarrel they had had since their marriage, for she, who was so pliable in all other matters, had discovered that she could become as hard as iron where the difference related to Harry. "You are unjust, Oliver. I think you ought to see it," she said in a voice which she kept by an effort from breaking. "I'll never see it, Jinny," and some dogged impulse to hurt her more made him add, "It's for Harry's sake as well as yours that I'm speaking." "For Harry's sake? Oh, you don't mean--you can't really mean that you think I'm not doing the best for my child, Oliver?" A year ago Oliver would have surrendered at once before the terror in her eyes; but in those twelve long months of effort, of hope, of balked ambition, of bitter questioning, and of tragic disillusionment, a new quality had developed in his character, and the generous sympathy of youth had hardened at thirty-four to the cautious cynicism of middle-age. It is doubtful if even he himself realized how transient such a state must be to a nature whose hidden springs were moved so easily by the mere action of change--by the effect of any alteration in the objects that surrounded him. Because the enthusiasm of youth was exhausted at the minute, it seemed to him that he had lost it forever. And to Virginia, who saw but one thing at a time and to whom that one thing was always the present instant, it seemed that the firm ground upon which she trod had crumbled beneath her. "Well, if you want the truth," he said quietly (as if any mother ever wanted the truth about such a matter), "I think you make a mistake to spoil Harry as you do." "But," she brought out the words with a pathetic quiver, "I treat him just as I do the others, and you never say anything about my spoiling them." "Oh, the others are girls. Girls aren't so easily ruined somehow. They don't get such hard knocks later on, so it makes less difference about them." As she sat there in bed, propped up on her elbow, which trembled violently against the pillows, with her cambric nightdress, trimmed only with a narrow band of crocheted lace, opened at her slender throat, and her hair, which was getting thin at the temples, drawn unbecomingly back from her forehead, she looked, indeed, as Oliver had thought, "at least ten years older than Abby." Though she was not yet thirty, the delicate, flower-like bloom of her beauty was already beginning to fade. The spirit which had animated her yesterday appeared to have gone out of her now. He thought how lovely she had been at twenty when he saw her for the first time after his return to Dinwiddie; and a sudden anger seized him because she was letting herself break, because she was so needlessly sacrificing her youth and her beauty. An hour later she got up and dressed herself, with the feeling that she had not rested a minute during the night. Harry was listless and fretful when he awoke, and while she put on his clothes, she debated with herself whether or not she should summon old Doctor Fraser from around the corner. When his lesson hour came, he climbed into her lap and went to sleep with his hot little head on her shoulder, and though he seemed better by evening, she was still so anxious about him that she forgot that she had promised Abby to go with them to Atlantic City until Oliver came in at dusk and reminded her. "Aren't you going, Virginia?" he inquired, as he hunted in the closet for his bag which she had not had time to pack. "I can't, Oliver. Harry isn't well. He has been unlike himself all day, and I am afraid to leave him." "He looks all right," he remarked, bending over the child in Virginia's lap. "Does anything hurt you, Harry?" "He doesn't seem to know exactly what it is," answered Virginia, "but if he isn't well by morning, I'll send for Doctor Fraser." "He's got a good colour, and I believe he's as well as he ever was," replied Oliver, while a curious note of hostility sounded in his voice. "There's nothing the matter with the boy," he added more positively after a minute. "Aren't you coming, Virginia?" She looked up at him from the big rocking-chair in which she sat with Harry in her arms, and as she did so, both became conscious that the issue had broadened from a question of her going to Atlantic City into a direct conflict of wills. The only thing that could make her oppose him had happened for the first time since her marriage. The feminine impulse to yield was overmatched by the maternal impulse to protect. She would have surrendered her soul to him for the asking; but she could not surrender, even had she desired to do so, the mother love which had passed into her from out the ages before she had been, and which would pass through her into the ages to come after her. "Of course, if the little chap were really suffering, I'd be as anxious about staying as you are," said Oliver impatiently; "but there's nothing the matter. You're all right, aren't you, Harry?" "Yes, I'm all right," repeated Harry, yawning and snuggling closer to Virginia, "but I'm sleepy." "He isn't all right," insisted Virginia obstinately. "There's something wrong with him. I don't know what it is, but he isn't in the least like himself." "It's just your imagination. You've got the children on the brain, Virginia. Don't you remember the time you woke me in the night and sent me after Doctor Fraser because Jenny had a bad attack of the hiccoughs?" "I know," acknowledged Virginia humbly. She could be humble enough, but what good did that do when she was, as he told himself irritably, "as stubborn as a mule"? Her softness--she had seemed as soft as flowers when he married her--had been her greatest charm for him after her beauty; and now, at the end of eight years in which she had appeared as delightfully invertebrate as he could have desired, she revealed to his astonished eyes a backbone that was evidently made of iron. She was immovable, he admitted, and because she was immovable he was conscious of a sharp unreasonable impulse to reduce her to the pliant curves of her girlhood. After eight years of an absolute supremacy, which had been far from good for him, his will had been tripped up at last by so small a thing as a mere whim of Virginia's. "You told Abby you would go," he urged, exasperated rather than soothed by her humility. "And it's too late now for her to ask any one else." "I'm so sorry, dear, but I never once thought about it. I've been so worried all day." He looked at the child, lying flushed and drowsy in Virginia's arms, and his face hardened until a latent brutality crept out around his handsome, but loosely moulded, lips. The truth was that Harry had never looked healthier than he did at that instant in the firelight, and the whole affair appeared to Oliver only another instance of what he called Virginia's "sensational motherhood." "Can't you see for yourself that he's perfectly well?" he asked. "I know he looks so, dear, but he isn't." "Well, here's your mother. Leave it to her. She will agree with me." "Why, what is it, Jinny?" asked Mrs. Pendleton, laying her bundle on the couch (for she had come prepared to spend the night), and regarding Oliver with the indulgent eyes of an older generation. "Virginia says at the last minute that she won't go with us," said Oliver, angry, yet caressing as he always was in his manner to his mother-in-law, to whom he was sincerely devoted. "She's got into her head that there's something wrong with Harry, but you can tell by looking at the child that he is perfectly well." "But I was up with him last night, mother. His throat hurts him," broke in Virginia in a voice that was full of emotion. "He certainly looks all right," remarked Mrs. Pendleton, "and I can take care of him if anything should be wrong." Then she added very gravely, "If you can't go, of course Oliver must stay at home, too, Virginia." "I can't," said Oliver; "not just for a whim, anyway. It would break up the party. Besides, I didn't get a holiday all summer, and I'll blow up that confounded bank unless I take a change." In the last quarter of an hour the trip had become of tremendous importance to him. From a trivial incident which he might have relinquished a week ago without regret, the excursion with Abby had attained suddenly the dignity and the power of an event in his life. Opposition had magnified inclination into desire. "I don't think it will do for Oliver to go without you, Jinny," said Mrs. Pendleton, and the gravity of her face showed how carefully she was weighing her words. "But I can't go, mother. You don't understand," replied Virginia, while her lips worked convulsively. No one could understand--not even her mother. Of the three of them, it is probable that she alone realized the complete significance of her decision. "Well, it's too late now, anyway," remarked Oliver shortly. "You wouldn't have time to dress and catch the train even if you wanted to." Taking up his bag, he kissed her carelessly, shook hands with Mrs. Pendleton, and throwing a "Good-bye, General!" to Harry, went out of the door. As he vanished, Virginia started up quickly, called "Oliver!" under her breath, and then sat down again, drawing her child closer in her arms. Her face had grown grey and stricken like the face of an old woman. Every atom of her quivered with the longing to run after him, to yield to his wish, to promise anything he asked of her. Yet she knew that if he came back, they would only pass again through the old wearing struggle of wills. She had chosen not as she desired to, but as she must, and already she was learning that life forces one in the end to abide by one's choices. "Oh, Virginia, I am afraid it was a mistake," said Mrs. Pendleton in an agonized tone. The horror of a scandal, which was stronger in the women of her generation than even the horror of illness, still darkened her mind. A shiver passed through Virginia and left her stiller and graver than before. "No, it was not a mistake, mother," she answered quietly. "I did what I was obliged to do. Oliver could not understand." As she uttered the words, she saw Oliver's face turned to Abby with the gay and laughing expression she had seen on it when the two rode down Old Street together, and a wave of passionate jealousy swept over her. She had let

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you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

scrambling

How many times the word 'scrambling' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

frivolous

How many times the word 'frivolous' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

wistfully

How many times the word 'wistfully' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

miserable

How many times the word 'miserable' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

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How many times the word 'scratching' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

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you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

fit

How many times the word 'fit' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

staying

How many times the word 'staying' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

talking

How many times the word 'talking' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

easier

How many times the word 'easier' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

wish

How many times the word 'wish' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

understand

How many times the word 'understand' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

sat

How many times the word 'sat' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

blowzy

How many times the word 'blowzy' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

greater

How many times the word 'greater' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

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you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

feeling

How many times the word 'feeling' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

bankrupting

How many times the word 'bankrupting' appears in the text?

you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

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you dread telling your father." "I'd rather be shot. I say, Polly, suppose we break it to him easy!" added Tom, after another turn. "How do you mean?" "Why, suppose Fan, or, better still, you go and sort of pave the way. I can't bear to come down on him with the whole truth at once." "So you'd like to have me go and tell him for you?" Polly's lip curled a little as she said that, and she gave Tom a look that would have shown him how blue eyes can flash, if he had seen it. But he was at the window, and did n't turn, as he said slowly, "Well, you see, he's so fond of you; we all confide in you; and you are so like one of the family, that it seems quite natural. Just tell him I'm expelled, you know, and as much more as you like; then I'll come in, and we'll have it out." Polly rose and went to the door without a word. In doing so, Tom caught a glimpse of her face, and said, hastily, "Don't you think it would be a good plan?" "No, I don't." "Why not? Don't you think he'd rather have it told him nicely by you, than blurted out as I always do blurt things?" "I know he'd rather have his son go to him and tell the truth, like a man, instead of sending a girl to do what he is afraid to do himself." If Polly had suddenly boxed his ears, Tom could n't have looked more taken aback than by that burst. He looked at her excited face, seemed to understand the meaning of it, and remembered all at once that he was trying to hide behind a girl. He turned scarlet, said shortly, "Come back, Polly," and walked straight out of the room, looking as if going to instant execution, for poor Tom had been taught to fear his father, and had not entirely outgrown the dread. Polly sat down, looking both satisfied and troubled. "I hope I did right," she said to herself, "I could n't bear to have him shirk and seem cowardly. He is n't, only he did n't think how it seemed to me, and I don't wonder he was a little afraid, Mr. Shaw is so severe with the poor fellow. Oh, dear, what should we do if Will got into such scrapes. Thank goodness, he's poor, and can't; I'm so glad of that!" Then she sat silent beside the half-open door, hearing the murmur of Tom's voice across the hall, and hoping, with all her heart, that he would n't have a very hard time. He seemed to tell his story rapidly and steadily, without interruption, to the end; then Polly heard Mr. Shaw's deeper voice say a few words, at which Tom uttered a loud exclamation, as if taken by surprise. Polly could n't distinguish a word, so she kept her seat, wondering anxiously what was going on between the two men. A sudden pause seemed to follow Tom's ejaculation, then Mr. Shaw talked a long time in a low, earnest tone, so different from the angry one Polly had expected to hear, that it made her nervous, for Mr. Shaw usually "blew Tom up first, and forgave him afterward," as Maud said. Presently Tom's voice was heard, apparently asking eager questions, to which brief replies were given. Then a dead silence fell upon the room, and nothing was heard but the spring rain softly falling out of doors. All of a sudden she heard a movement, and Tom's voice say audibly, "Let me bring Polly;" and he appeared, looking so pale and miserable that Polly was frightened. "Go and say something to him; I can't; poor old father, if I'd only known," and to Polly's utter dismay, Tom threw himself into a chair, and laid his head down on the table, as if he had got a blow that was too much for him. "Oh, Tom, what is it?" cried Polly, hurrying to him, full of fears she dared not speak. Without looking up, Tom answered, in a smothered voice, "Failed; all gone to smash; and to-morrow every one will know it." Polly held on to the back of Tom's chair, for a minute, for the news took her breath away, and she felt as if the world was coming to an end, "failed" was such a vaguely dreadful word to her. "Is it very bad?" she asked, softly, feeling as if anything was better than to stand still and see Tom so wretched. "Yes; he means to give up everything. He's done his best; but it can't be staved off any longer, and it's all up with him." "Oh, I wish I had a million to give him!" cried Polly, clasping her hands, with the tears running down her cheeks. "How does he bear it, Tom?" "Like a man, Polly; and I'm proud of him," said Tom, looking up, all red and excited with the emotions he was trying to keep under. "Everything has been against him, and he has fought all alone to stand the pressure, but it's too much for him, and he's given in. It's an honorable failure, mind you, and no one can say a word against him. I'd like to see'em try it!" and Tom clenched his hands, as if it would be an immense relief to him to thrash half a dozen aspersers of his father's honest name. "Of course they can't! This is what poor Maud troubled about. He had told your mother and Fan before you came, and that is why they are so unhappy, I suppose." "They are safe enough. Father has n't touched mother's money; he'could n't rob his girls,' he said, and that's all safe for'em. Is n't he a trump, Polly?" And Tom's face shone with pride, even while his lips would twitch with a tenderer feeling. "If I could only do anything to help," cried Polly, oppressed with her own powerlessness. "You can. Go and be good to him; you know how; he needs it enough, all alone there. I can't do it, for I'm only a curse instead of a comfort to him." "How did he take your news?" asked Polly, who, for a time, had forgotten the lesser trouble in the greater. "Like a lamb; for when I'd done, he only said, 'My poor lad, we must bear with one another.' and then told his story." "I'm glad he was kind," began Polly, in a soothing tone; but Tom cried out, remorsefully, "That's what knocks me over! Just when I ought to be a pride and a prop to him, I bring him my debts and disgrace, and he never says a word of blame. It's no use, I can't stand it!" and Tom's head went down again with something very like a sob, that would come in spite of manful efforts to keep it back, for the poor fellow had the warmest heart that ever was, and all the fine waistcoats outside could n't spoil it. That sound gave Polly more pain than the news of a dozen failures and expulsions, and it was as impossible for her to resist putting her hand tenderly on the bent head, as it was for her to help noticing with pleasure how brown the little curls were growing, and how soft they were. In spite of her sorrow, she enjoyed that minute very much, for she was a born consoler, and, it is hardly necessary for me to add, loved this reprehensible Tom with all her heart. It was a very foolish thing for her to do, she quite agreed to that; she could n't understand it, explain it, or help it; she only felt that she did care for him very much, in spite of his faults, his indifference, and his engagement. You see, she learned to love him one summer, when he made them a visit. That was before Trix caught him; and when she heard that piece of news, Polly could n't unlove him all at once, though she tried very hard, as was her duty. That engagement was such a farce, that she never had much faith in it, so she put her love away in a corner of her heart, and tried to forget it, hoping it would either die, or have a right to live. It did n't make her very miserable, because patience, work, and common-sense lent her a hand, and hope would keep popping up its bright face from the bottom of her Pandora-box of troubles. Now and then, when any one said Trix would n't jilt Tom, or that Tom did care for Trix more than he should, Polly had a pang, and thought she could n't possibly bear it. But she always found she could, and so came to the conclusion that it was a merciful provision of nature that girls' hearts could stand so much, and their appetites continue good, when unrequited love was starving. Now, she could not help yearning over this faulty, well-beloved scapegrace Tom, or help thinking, with a little thrill of hope, "If Trix only cared for his money, she may cast him off now he's lost it; but I 'll love him all the better because he's poor." With this feeling warm at her heart, I don't wonder that Polly's hand had a soothing effect, and that after a heave or two, Tom's shoulders were quiet, and certain smothered sniffs suggested that he would be all right again, if he could only wipe his eyes without any one's seeing him do it. Polly seemed to divine his wish, and tucking a little, clean handkerchief into one of his half-open hands, she said, "I'm going to your father, now," and with a farewell smooth, so comforting that Tom wished she'd do it again, she went away. As she paused a minute in the hall to steady herself, Maud called her from above, and thinking that the women might need her more than the men, she ran up to find Fanny waiting for her in her own room. "Mamma's asleep, quite worn out, poor dear, so we can talk in here without troubling her," said Fanny, receiving her friend so quietly, that Polly was amazed. "Let me come, too, I won't make any fuss; it's so dreadful to be shut out everywhere, and have people crying and talking, and locked up, and I not know what it means," said Maud, beseechingly. "You do know, now; I've told her, Polly," said Fan, as they sat down together, and Maud perched herself on the bed, so that she might retire among the pillows if her feelings were too much for her. "I'm glad you take it so well, dear; I was afraid it might upset you," said Polly, seeing now that in spite of her quiet manner, Fan's eyes had an excited look, and her cheeks a feverish color. "I shall groan and moan by and by, I dare say, but at first it sort of dazed me, and now it begins to excite me. I ought to be full of sorrow for poor papa, and I am truly sorry, but, wicked as it may seem, it's a fact, Polly, that I'm half glad it's happened, for it takes me out of myself, and gives me something to do." Fanny's eyes fell and her color rose as she spoke, but Polly understood why she wanted to forget herself, and put her arm round her with a more tender sympathy than Fanny guessed. "Perhaps things are not as bad as they seem; I don't know much about such matters, but I've seen people who have failed, and they seemed just as comfortable as before," said Polly. "It won't be so with us, for papa means to give up everything, and not have a word said against him. Mamma's little property is settled upon her, and has n't been risked. That touched her so much! She dreads poverty even more than I do, but she begged him to take it if it would help him. That pleased him, but he said nothing would induce him to do it, for it would n't help much, and was hardly enough to keep her comfortable." "Do you know what he means to do?" asked Polly, anxiously. "He said his plans were not made, but he meant to go into the little house that belonged to grandma, as soon as he could, for it was n't honest for a bankrupt to keep up an establishment like this." "I shan't mind that at all, I like the little house'cause it's got a garden, and there's a cunning room with a three-cornered closet in it that I always wanted. If that's all, I don't think bankrupting is so very bad," said Maud, taking a cheerful view of things. "Ah, just wait till the carriage goes and the nice clothes and the servants, and we have to scratch along as we can. You'll change your mind then, poor child," said Fanny, whose ideas of failure were decidedly tragical. "Will they take all my things away?" cried Maud, in dismay. "I dare say; I don't know what we are allowed to keep; but not much, I fancy," and Fan looked as if strung up to sacrifice everything she possessed. "They shan't have my new ear-rings, I'll hide'em, and my best dress, and my gold smelling bottle. Oh, oh, oh! I think it's mean to take a little girl's things away!" And Maud dived among the pillows to smother a wail of anguish at the prospect of being bereft of her treasures. Polly soon lured her out again, by assurances that she would n't be utterly despoiled, and promises to try and soften the hard hearts of her father's creditors, if the ear-rings and the smelling-bottle were attached. "I wonder if we shall be able to keep one servant, just till we learn how to do the work," said Fanny, looking at her white hands, with a sigh. But Maud clapped hers, and gave a joyful bounce, as she cried, "Now I can learn to cook! I love so to beat eggs! I'll have an apron, with a bib to it, like Polly's, and a feather duster, and sweep the stairs, maybe, with my head tied up, like Katy. Oh, what fun!" "Don't laugh at her, or discourage her; let her find comfort in bibs and dust-pans, if she can," whispered Polly to Fan, while Maud took a joyful "header" among the pillows, and came up smiling and blowzy, for she loved house-work, and often got lectured for stolen visits to the kitchen, and surreptitious sweepings and dustings when the coast was clear. "Mamma is so feeble, I shall have to keep house, I suppose, and you must show me how, Polly," said Fan. "Good practice, ma'am, as you'll find out some day," answered Polly, laughing significantly. Fanny smiled, then grew both grave and sad. "This changes everything; the old set will drop me, as we did the Mertons when their father failed, and my'prospects,' as we say, are quite ruined." "I don't believe it; your real friends won't drop you, and you'll find out which the true ones are now. I know one friend who will be kinder than ever." "Oh, Polly, do you think so?" and Fanny's eyes softened with sudden tears. "I know who she means," cried Maud, always eager to find out things. "It 's herself; Polly won't mind if we are poor,'cause she likes beggars." "Is that who you meant?" asked Fan, wistfully. "No, it's a much better and dearer friend than I am," said Polly, pinching Fanny's cheek, as it reddened prettily under her eyes. "You'll never guess, Maud, so I would n't try, but be planning what you will put in your cunning, three-cornered closet, when you get it." Having got rid of "Miss Paulina Pry," as Tom called Maud, who was immediately absorbed by her cupboard, the older girls soberly discussed the sudden change which had come, and Polly was surprised to see what unexpected strength and sense Fanny showed. Polly was too unconscious of the change which love had made in herself to understand at first the cause of her friend's new patience and fortitude; but she rejoiced over it, and felt that her prophecy would yet be fulfilled. Presently Maud emerged from her new closet, bringing a somewhat startling idea with her. "Do bankrupting men" (Maud liked that new word) "always have fits?" "Mercy, no! What put that into your head, child?" cried Polly. "Why, Mr. Merton did; and I was thinking perhaps papa had got one down there, and it kind of frightened me." "Mr. Merton's was a bad, disgraceful failure, and I don't wonder he had a fit. Ours is n't, and papa won't do anything of that sort, you may be sure," said Fanny, with as proud an air as if "our failure" was rather an honor than otherwise. "Don't you think you and Maud had better go down and see him?" asked Polly. "Perhaps he would n't like it; and I don't know what to say, either," began Fan; but Polly said, eagerly, "I know he would like it. Never mind what you say; just go, and show him that you don't doubt or blame him for this, but love him all the more, and are ready and glad to help him bear the trouble." "I'm going, I ain't afraid; I'll just hug him, and say I'm ever so glad we are going to the little house," cried Maud, scrambling off the bed, and running down stairs. "Come with me, Polly, and tell me what to do," said Fanny, drawing her friend after her. "You'll know what to do when you see him, better than I can tell you," answered Polly, readily yielding, for she knew they considered her "quite one of the family," as Tom said. At the study door they found Maud, whose courage had given out, for Mr. Merton's fit rather haunted her. Polly opened the door; and the minute Fanny saw her father, she did know what to do. The fire was low, the gas dim, and Mr. Shaw was sitting in his easy-chair, his gray head in both his hands, looking lonely, old, and bowed down with care. Fanny gave Polly one look, then went and took the gray head in both her arms, saying, with a tender quiver in her voice, "Father dear, we've come to help you bear it." Mr. Shaw looked up, and seeing in his daughter's face something that never had been there before, put his arm about her, and leaned his tired head against her, as if, when least expected, he had found the consolation he most needed. In that minute, Fanny felt, with mingled joy and self-reproach, what a daughter might be to her father; and Polly, thinking of feeble, selfish Mrs. Shaw, asleep up stairs, saw with sudden clearness what a wife should be to her husband, a helpmeet, not a burden. Touched by these unusual demonstrations, Maud crept quietly to her father's knee, and whispered, with a great tear shining on her little pug nose, "Papa, we don't mind it much, and I'm going to help Fan keep house for you; I'd like to do it, truly." Mr. Shaw's other arm went round the child, and for a minute no one said anything, for Polly had slipped behind his chair, that nothing should disturb the three, who were learning from misfortune how much they loved one another. Presently Mr. Shaw steadied himself and asked, "Where is my other daughter, where's my Polly?" She was there at once; gave him one of the quiet kisses that had more than usual tenderness in it, for she loved to hear him say "my other daughter," and then she whispered, "Don't you want Tom, too?" "Of course I do; where is the poor fellow?" "I'll bring him;" and Polly departed with most obliging alacrity. But in the hall she paused a minute to peep into the glass and see if she was all right, for somehow she was more anxious to look neat and pretty to Tom in his hour of trouble than she had ever been in his prosperous days. In lifting her arms to perk up the bow at her throat she knocked a hat off the bracket. Now, a shiny black beaver is not an object exactly calculated to inspire tender or romantic sentiments, one would fancy, but that particular "stove pipe" seemed to touch Polly to the heart, for she caught it up, as if its fall suggested a greater one, smoothed out a slight dint, as if it was symbolical of the hard knocks its owner's head was now in danger of receiving, and stood looking at it with as much pity and respect, as if it had been the crown of a disinherited prince. Girls will do such foolish little things, and though we laugh at them, I think we like them the better for it, after all. Richard was himself again when Polly entered, for the handkerchief had disappeared, his head was erect, his face was steady, and his whole air had a dogged composure which seemed to say to fate, "Hit away, I'm ready." He did not hear Polly come in, for he was looking fixedly at the fire with eyes that evidently saw a very different future there from that which it used to show him; but when she said, "Tom, dear, your father wants you," he got up at once, held out his hand to her, saying, "Come too, we can't get on without you," and took her back into the study with him. Then they had a long talk, for the family troubles seemed to warm and strengthen the family affection and confidence, and as the young people listened while Mr. Shaw told them as much of his business perplexities as they could understand, every one of them blamed him or herself for going on so gayly and blindly, while the storm was gathering, and the poor man was left to meet it all alone. Now, however, the thunder-clap had come, and after the first alarm, finding they were not killed, they began to discover a certain half-anxious, half-pleasant excitement in talking it over, encouraging one another, and feeling unusually friendly, as people do when a sudden shower drives two or three to the shelter of one umbrella. It was a sober talk, but not all sad, for Mr. Shaw felt inexpressibly comforted by his children's unexpected sympathy, and they, trying to take the downfall cheerfully for his sake, found it easier to bear themselves. They even laughed occasionally, for the girls, in their ignorance, asked queer questions; Tom made ludicrously unbusiness-like propositions; and Maud gave them one hearty peal, that did a world of good, by pensively remarking, when the plans for the future had been explained to her, "I'm so relieved; for when papa said we must give up everything, and mamma called us all beggars, I did think I'd got to go round asking for cold vittles, with a big basket, and an old shawl over my head. I said once I'd like that, but I'm afraid I should n't, for I can't bear Indian cake and cold potatoes, that's what the poor children always seem to get, and I should hate to have Grace and the rest see me scuffing round the back gates." "My little girl shall never come to that, if I can help it," said Mr. Shaw, holding her close, with a look that made Maud add, as she laid her cheek against his own, "But I'd do it, father, if you asked me to, for I truly want to help." "So do I!" cried Fanny, wondering at the same minute how it would seem to wear turned silks, and clean her gloves. Tom said nothing, but drew toward him a paper of figures which his father had drawn up, and speedily reduced himself to the verge of distraction by trying to understand them, in his ardent desire to prove his willingness to put his shoulder to the wheel. "We shall pull through, children, so don't borrow trouble, only be ready for discomforts and annoyances. Put your pride in your pockets, and remember poverty is n't disgraceful, but dishonesty is." Polly had always loved kind Mr. Shaw, but now she respected him heartily, and felt that she had not done him justice when she sometimes thought that he only cared for making money. "I should n't wonder if this was a good thing for the whole family, though it don't look so. Mrs. Shaw will take it the hardest, but it may stir her up, so she will forget her nerves, and be as busy and happy as mother is," said Polly to herself, in a hopeful mood, for poverty was an old friend, and she had learned long ago not to fear it, but to take its bitter and its sweet, and make the best of both. When they parted for the night, Polly slipped away first, to leave them free, yet could n't help lingering outside to see how tenderly the girls parted from their father. Tom had n't a word to say for himself, for men don't kiss, caress, or cry when they feel most, and all he could do to express his sympathy and penitence, was to wring his father's hand with a face full of respect, regret, and affection, and then bolt up stairs as if the furies were after him, as they were, in a mild and modern form. CHAPTER XVI. A DRESS PARADE THE weeks that followed taught the Shaws, as many other families have been taught, how rapidly riches take to themselves wings and fly away, when they once begin to go. Mr. Shaw carried out his plans with an energy and patience that worked wonders, and touched the hearts of his hardest creditors. The big house was given up as soon as possible and the little house taken; being made comfortable with the furniture Madam left there when she went to live with her son. The old-fashioned things had been let with the house, and now seemed almost like a gift from Grandma, doubly precious in these troublous times. At the auction, several persons tried to show the family that, though they had lost their fortune, friends still remained, for one bid in Fanny's piano, and sent it to her; another secured certain luxurious articles for Mrs. Shaw's comfort; and a third saved such of Mr. Shaw's books as he valued most, for he had kept his word and given up everything, with the most punctilious integrity. So the little house was not bare, but made pleasant to their eyes by these waifs from the wreck, brought them by the tide of sympathy and good-will which soon set in. Everybody who knew them hastened to call, many from a real regard, but more from mere curiosity to "see how they took it." This was one of the hardest things they had to bear, and Tom used strong language more than once, when some fine lady came to condole, and went away to gossip. Polly's hopes of Mrs. Shaw were disappointed, for misfortune did not have a bracing effect. She took to her bed at once, received her friends in tears and a point-lace cap, and cheered her family by plaintively inquiring when she was to be taken to the almshouse. This was hard for Fanny; but after an interval of despair, she came to the conclusion that under the circumstances it was the best thing her mother could have done, and with something of her father's energy, Fanny shouldered the new burden, feeling that at last necessity had given her what she had long needed, something to do. The poor girl knew as much of household affairs as Snip; but pride and the resolution "to stand by Father," kept up her courage, and she worked away with feverish activity at whatever task came first till, just as strength and heart were about to fail, order began to emerge from chaos and the vision of a home made happy and comfortable by her skill and care came to repay and sustain her. Maud, being relieved from the fear of back-door beggary, soon became reconciled to bankruptcy; thought it rather a good joke, on the whole, for children like novelty, and don't care much for Mrs. Grundy. She regarded the new abode as a baby house on a large scale, where she was allowed to play her part in the most satisfactory manner. From the moment when, on taking possession of the coveted room, she opened the doors of the three-cornered closet, and found a little kettle just like Polly's, standing there, she felt that a good time was coming for her and fell to dusting furniture, washing cups, and making toast, the happiest, fussiest little housewife in the city. For Maud inherited the notable gifts of her grandmother, and would have made a capital farmer's daughter, in spite of her city breeding. Polly came and went through all these changes, faithful, helpful, and as cheery as she could be when her friends were in trouble. The parts seemed reversed now, and it was Polly who gave, Fanny who received; for where everything seemed strange and new to Fan, Polly was quite at home, and every one of the unfashionable domestic accomplishments now came into play, to the comfort of the Shaws, and the great satisfaction of Polly. She could not do enough to prove her gratitude for former favors, and went toiling and moiling about, feeling that the hardest, most disagreeable tasks were her especial duty. In the moving

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