The Pace of Youth by Stephen Crane
Stimson stood in a corner and glowered. He was a fierce man and had
indomitable whiskers, albeit he was very small.
"That young tarrier," he whispered to himself. "He wants to quit makin'
eyes at Lizzie. This is too much of a good thing. First thing you know,
he'll get fired."
His brow creased in a frown, he strode over to the huge open doors and
looked at a sign. "Stimson's Mammoth Merry-Go-Round," it read, and the
glory of it was great. Stimson stood and contemplated the sign. It was
an enormous affair; the letters were as large as men. The glow of it,
the grandeur of it was very apparent to Stimson. At the end of his
contemplation, he shook his head thoughtfully, determinedly. "No, no,"
he muttered. "This is too much of a good thing. First thing you know,
he'll get fired."
A soft booming sound of surf, mingled with the cries of bathers, came
from the beach. There was avista of sand and sky and sea that drew to
a mystic point far away in the northward. In the mighty angle, a girl
in a red dress was crawling slowly like some kind of a spider on the
fabric of nature. A few flags hung lazily above where the bath-houses
were marshalled in compact squares. Upon the edge of the sea stood
a ship with its shadowy sails painted dimly upon the sky, and high
overhead in the still, sun-shot air a great hawk swung and drifted
Within the Merry-Go-Round there was a whirling circle of ornamental
lions, giraffes, camels, ponies, goats, glittering with varnish and
metal that caught swift reflections from windows high above them. With
stiff wooden legs, they swept on in a never-ending race, while a great
orchestrion clamoured in wild speed. The summer sunlight sprinkled its
gold upon the garnet canopies carried by the tireless racers and upon
all the devices of decoration that made Stimson's machine magnificent
and famous. A host of laughing children bestrode the animals, bending
forward like charging cavalrymen, and shaking reins and whooping in
glee. At intervals they leaned out perilously to clutch at iron rings
that were tendered to them by a long wooden arm. At the intense moment
before the swift grab for the rings one could see their little nervous
bodies quiver with eagerness; the laughter rang shrill and excited.
Down in the long rows of benches, crowds of people sat watching
the game, while occasionally a father might arise and go near to
shout encouragement, cautionary commands, or applause at his flying
offspring. Frequently mothers called out: "Be careful, Georgie!" The
orchestrion bellowed and thundered on its platform, filling the ears
with its long monotonous song. Over in a corner, a man in a white apron
and behind a counter roared above the tumult: "Pop corn! Pop corn!"
A young man stood upon a small, raised platform, erected in a manner
of a pulpit, and just without the line of the circling figures. It was
his duty to manipulate the wooden arm and affix the rings. When all
were gone into the hands of the triumphant children, he held forth a
basket, into which they returned all save the coveted brass one, which
meant another ride free and made the holder very illustrious. The young
man stood all day upon his narrow platform, affixing rings or holding
forth the basket. He was a sort of general squire in these lists of
childhood. He was very busy.
And yet Stimson, the astute, had noticed that the young man frequently
found time to twist about on his platform and smile at a girl who shyly
sold tickets behind a silvered netting. This, indeed, was the great
reason of Stimson's glowering. The young man upon the raised platform
had no manner of licence to smile at the girl behind the silvered
netting. It was a most gigantic insolence. Stimson was amazed at it.
"By Jiminy," he said to himself again, "that fellow is smiling at my
daughter." Even in this tone of great wrath it could be discerned that
Stimson was filled with wonder that any youth should dare smile at the
daughter in the presence of the august father.
Often the dark-eyed girl peered between the shining wires, and, upon
being detected by the young man, she usually turned her head away
quickly to prove to him that she was not interested. At other times,
however, her eyes seemed filled with a tender fear lest he should
fall from that exceedingly dangerous platform. As for the young man,
it was plain that these glances filled him with valour, and he stood
carelessly upon his perch, as if he deemed it of no consequence that
he might fall from it. In all the complexities of his daily life and
duties he found opportunity to gaze ardently at the vision behind the
This silent courtship was conducted over the heads of the crowd who
thronged about the bright machine. The swift eloquent glances of the
young man went noiselessly and unseen with their message. There had
finally become established between the two in this manner a subtle
understanding and companionship. They communicated accurately all
that they felt. The boy told his love, his reverence, his hope in the
changes of the future. The girl told him that she loved him, that she
did not love him, that she did not know if she loved him, that she
loved him. Sometimes a little sign saying "cashier" in gold letters,
and hanging upon the silvered netting, got directly in range and
interfered with the tender message.
The love affair had not continued without anger, unhappiness, despair.
The girl had once smiled brightly upon a youth who came to buy some
tickets for his little sister, and the young man upon the platform
observing this smile had been filled with gloomy rage. He stood like
a dark statue of vengeance upon his pedestal and thrust out the basket
to the children with a gesture that was full of scorn for their hollow
happiness, for their insecure and temporary joy. For five hours he did
not once look at the girl when she was looking at him. He was going
to crush her with his indifference; he was going to demonstrate that
he had never been serious. However, when he narrowly observed her in
secret he discovered that she seemed more blythe than was usual with
her. When he found that his apparent indifference had not crushed
her he suffered greatly. She did not love him, he concluded. If she
had loved him she would have been crushed. For two days he lived
a miserable existence upon his high perch. He consoled himself by
thinking of how unhappy he was, and by swift, furtive glances at the
loved face. At any rate he was in her presence, and he could get a good
view from his perch when there was no interference by the little sign:
But suddenly, swiftly, these clouds vanished, and under the imperial
blue sky of the restored confidence they dwelt in peace, a peace
that was satisfaction, a peace that, like a babe, put its trust in
the treachery of the future. This confidence endured until the next
day, when she, for an unknown cause, suddenly refused to look at
him. Mechanically he continued his task, his brain dazed, a tortured
victim of doubt, fear, suspicion. With his eyes he supplicated her to
telegraph an explanation. She replied with a stony glance that froze
his blood. There was a great difference in their respective reasons
angry. His were always foolish, but apparent, plain as
the moon. Hers were subtle, feminine, as incomprehensible as the stars,
as mysterious as the shadows at night.
They fell and soared, and soared and fell in this manner until they
knew that to live without each other would be a wandering in deserts.
They had grown so intent upon the uncertainties, the variations,
the guessings of their affair that the world had become but a huge
immaterial background. In time of peace their smiles were soft and
prayerful, caresses confided to the air. In time of war, their youthful
hearts, capable of profound agony, were wrung by the intricate emotions
of doubt. They were the victims of the dread angel of affectionate
speculation that forces the brain endlessly on roads that lead nowhere.
At night, the problem of whether she loved him confronted the young man
like a spectre, looming as high as a hill and telling him not to delude
himself. Upon the following day, this battle of the night displayed
itself in the renewed fervour of his glances and in their increased
number. Whenever he thought he could detect that she too was suffering,
he felt a thrill of joy.
But there came a time when the young man looked back upon these
contortions with contempt. He believed then that he had imagined his
pain. This came about when the redoubtable Stimson marched forward to
"This has got to stop," Stimson had said to himself, as he stood and
watched them. They had grown careless of the light world that clattered
they were become so engrossed in their personal drama
that the language of their eyes was almost as obvious as gestures. And
Stimson, through his keenness, his wonderful, infallible penetration,
suddenly came into possession of these obvious facts. "Well, of all the
nerves," he said, regarding with a new interest the young man upon the
He was a resolute man. He never hesitated to grapple with a crisis. He
decided to overturn everything at once, for, although small, he was
very fierce and impetuous. He resolved to crush this dreaming.
He strode over to the silvered netting. "Say, you want to quit your
everlasting grinning at that idiot," he said, grimly.
The girl cast down her eyes and made a little heap of quarters into a
stack. She was unable to withstand the terrible scrutiny of her small
and fierce father.
Stimson turned from his daughter and went to a spot beneath the
platform. He fixed his eyes upon the young man and said—
"I've been speakin' to Lizzie. You better attend strictly to your own
business or there'll be a new man here next week." It was as if he had
blazed away with a shot-gun. The young man reeled upon his perch. At
last he in a measure regained his composure and managed to stammer:
"A—all right, sir." He knew that denials would be futile with the
terrible Stimson. He agitatedly began to rattle the rings in the
basket, and pretend that he was obliged to count them or inspect them
in some way. He, too, was unable to face the great Stimson.
For a moment, Stimson stood in fine satisfaction and gloated over the
effect of his threat.
"I've fixed them," he said complacently, and went out to smoke a cigar
and revel in himself. Through his mind went the proud reflection that
people who came in contact with his granite will usually ended in quick
and abject submission.
One evening, a week after Stimson had indulged in the proud reflection
that people who came in contact with his granite will usually ended
in quick and abject submission, a young feminine friend of the girl
behind the silvered netting came to her there and asked her to walk on
the beach after "Stimson's Mammoth Merry-Go-Round" was closed for the
night. The girl assented with a nod.
The young man upon the perch holding the rings saw this nod and judged
its meaning. Into his mind came an idea of defeating the watchfulness
of the redoubtable Stimson.
When the Merry-Go-Round was closed and the two girls started for the
beach, he wandered off aimlessly in another direction, but he kept
them in view, and as soon as he was assured that he had escaped the
vigilance of Stimson, he followed them.
The electric lights on the beach made a broad band of tremoring
light, extending parallel to the sea, and upon the wide walk there
slowly paraded a great crowd, intermingling, intertwining, sometimes
colliding. In the darkness stretched the vast purple expanse of the
ocean, and the deep indigo sky above was peopled with yellow stars.
Occasionally out upon the water a whirling mass of froth suddenly
flashed into view, like a great ghostly robe appearing, and then
vanished, leaving the sea in its darkness, from whence came those bass
tones of the water's unknown emotion. A wind, cool, reminiscent of the
wave wastes, made the women hold their wraps about their throats, and
caused the men to grip the rims of their straw hats. It carried the
noise of the band in the pavilion in gusts. Sometimes people unable
to hear the music, glanced up at the pavilion and were reassured upon
beholding the distant leader still gesticulating and bobbing, and the
other members of the band with their lips glued to their instruments.
High in the sky soared an unassuming moon, faintly silver.
For a time the young man was afraid to approach the two girls; he
followed them at a distance and called himself a coward. At last,
however, he saw them stop on the outer edge of the crowd and stand
silently listening to the voices of the sea. When he came to where they
stood, he was trembling in his agitation. They had not seen him.
"Lizzie," he began. "I——"
The girl wheeled instantly and put her hand to her throat.
"Oh, Frank, how you frightened me," she said—inevitably.
"Well, you know I—I——" he stuttered.
But the other girl was one of those beings who are born to attend
at tragedies. She had for love a reverence, an admiration that was
greater the more that she contemplated the fact that she knew nothing
of it. This couple, with their emotions, awed her and made her humbly
wish that she might be destined to be of some service to them. She was
When the young man faltered before them, she, in her sympathy, actually
over-estimated the crisis, and felt that he might fall dying at their
feet. Shyly, but with courage, she marched to the rescue.
"Won't you come and walk on the beach with us?" she said.
The young woman gave her a glance of deep gratitude which was not
without the patronage which a man in his condition naturally feels for
one who pities it. The three walked on.
Finally, the being who was born to attend at this tragedy, said that
she wished to sit down and gaze at the sea, alone.
They politely urged her to walk on with them, but she was obstinate.
She wished to gaze at the sea, alone. The young man swore to himself
that he would be her friend until he died.
And so the two young lovers went on without her. They turned once to
look at her.
"Jennie's awful nice," said the girl.
"You bet she is," replied the young man, ardently.
They were silent for a little time.
At last the girl said—
"You were angry at me yesterday."
"No, I wasn't."
"Yes, you were, too. You wouldn't look at me once all day."
"No, I wasn't angry. I was only putting on."
Though she had, of course, known it, this confession seemed to make her
very indignant. She flashed a resentful glance at him.
"Oh, were you, indeed?" she said with a great air.
For a few minutes she was so haughty with him that he loved her to
madness. And directly this poem, which stuck at his lips, came forth
lamely in fragments.
When they walked back toward the other girl and saw the patience of
her attitude, their hearts swelled in a patronizing and secondary
tenderness for her.
They were very happy. If they had been miserable they would have
charged this fairy scene of the night with a criminal heartlessness;
but as they were joyous, they vaguely wondered how the purple sea, the
yellow stars, the changing crowds under the electric lights could be so
phlegmatic and stolid.
They walked home by the lake-side way, and out upon the water those gay
paper lanterns, flashing, fleeting, and careering, sang to them, sang a
chorus of red and violet, and green and gold; a song of mystic bands of
One day, when business paused during a dull sultry afternoon, Stimson
went up town. Upon his return, he found that the popcorn man, from his
stand over in a corner, was keeping an eye upon the cashier's cage, and
that nobody at all was attending to the wooden arm and the iron rings.
He strode forward like a sergeant of grenadiers.
"Where in thunder is Lizzie?" he demanded, a cloud of rage in his eyes.
The popcorn man, although associated long with Stimson, had never got
over being dazed.
"They've—they've—gone round to th'—th'—house," he said with
difficulty, as if he had just been stunned.
"Whose house?" snapped Stimson.
"Your—your house, I 'spose," said the popcorn man.
Stimson marched round to his home. Kingly denunciations surged, already
formulated, to the tip of his tongue, and he bided the moment when his
anger could fall upon the heads of that pair of children. He found his
wife convulsive and in tears.
And then she burst forth—"Oh—John—John-they've run
away, I know they have. They drove by here not three minutes ago. They
must have done it on purpose to bid me good-bye, for Lizzie waved her
hand sad-like; and then, before I could get out to ask where they were
going or what, Frank whipped up the horse."
Stimson gave vent to a dreadful roar.
"Get my revolver—get a hack—get my revolver, do you hear—what the
devil——" His voice became incoherent.
He had always ordered his wife about as if she were a battalion of
infantry, and despite her misery, the training of years forced her to
spring mechanically to obey; but suddenly she turned to him with a
"Confound it, let go of me," he roared again, and shook her from him.
He ran hatless upon the street. There were a multitude of hacks at the
summer resort, but it was ages to him before he could find one. Then he
charged it like a bull.
"Uptown," he yelled, as he tumbled into the rear seat.
The hackman thought of severed arteries. His galloping horse distanced
a large number of citizens who had been running to find what caused
such contortions by the little hatless man.
It chanced as the bouncing hack went along near the lake, Stimson gazed
across the calm grey expanse and recognized a colour in a bonnet and
a pose of a head. A buggy was travelling along a highway that led to
Sorington. Stimson bellowed—"There—there—there they
are—in that buggy."
The hackman became inspired with the full knowledge of the situation.
He struck a delirious blow with the whip. His mouth expanded in a grin
of excitement and joy. It came to pass that this old vehicle, with its
drowsy horse and its dusty-eyed and tranquil driver, seemed suddenly to
awaken, to become animated and fleet. The horse ceased to ruminate on
his state, his air of reflection vanished. He became intent upon his
aged legs and spread them in quaint and ridiculous devices for speed.
The driver, his eyes shining, sat critically in his seat. He watched
each motion of this rattling machine down before him. He resembled
an engineer. He used the whip with judgment and deliberation as the
engineer would have used coal or oil. The horse clacked swiftly upon
the macadam, the wheels hummed, the body of the vehicle wheezed and
Stimson, in the rear seat, was erect in that impassive attitude that
comes sometimes to the furious man when he is obliged to leave the
battle to others. Frequently, however, the tempest in his breast came
to his face and he howled—
"Go it—go it—you're gaining; pound 'im! Thump the life out
of 'im; hit 'im hard, you fool." His hand grasped the rod that supported the
carriage top, and it was clenched so that the nails were faintly blue.
Ahead, that other carriage had been flying with speed, as from
realization of the menace in the rear. It bowled away rapidly, drawn
by the eager spirit of a young and modern horse. Stimson could see
the buggy-top bobbing, bobbing. That little pane, like an eye, was a
derision to him. Once he leaned forward and bawled angry sentences. He
began to feel impotent; his whole expedition was a tottering of an old
man upon a trail of birds. A sense of age made him choke again with
wrath. That other vehicle, that was youth, with youth's pace; it was
swift-flying with the hope of dreams. He began to comprehend those two
children ahead of him, and he knew a sudden and strange awe, because he
understood the power of their young blood, the power to fly strongly
into the future and feel and hope again, even at that time when his
bones must be laid in the earth. The dust rose easily from the hot road
and stifled the nostrils of Stimson.
The highway vanished far away in a point with a suggestion of
intolerable length. The other vehicle was becoming so small that
Stimson could no longer see the derisive eye.
At last the hackman drew rein to his horse and turned to look at
"No use, I guess," he said.
Stimson made a gesture of acquiescence, rage, despair. As the
hackman turned his dripping horse about, Stimson sank back with the
astonishment and grief of a man who has been defied by the universe. He
had been in a great perspiration, and now his bald head felt cool and
uncomfortable. He put up his hand with a sudden recollection that he
had forgotten his hat.
At last he made a gesture. It meant that at any rate he was not