THE WEDDING DAY ARRANGED
When the colonel suppressed Dick's telegram, and as he fondly imagined,
silenced the young man in Boston, he left out of the reckoning a prying
servant, who secretly examined the message which the colonel had thrown
into a wastebasket torn across only twice. In consequence of this,
hundreds of persons, presently, were discussing a rumor to the effect
that Dick Swinton was still alive. Dora, as it chanced, heard nothing;
but Vivian Ormsby--who thought that he alone shared the colonel's
secret--heard the gossip circulating through the city.
"Dick Swinton is not dead," said the report, "he is hiding in New York."
Mr. Barnby spoke of this as laughable. But Ormsby knew that the truth
must out sooner or later, and it was necessary that he should be ready.
The police were on the alert--reluctantly alert, for they respected the
rector. The banker, however, was a more important person than the
clergyman, and his evident anxiety to lay hands on the forger was a thing
not to be overlooked. There was also a little private reward mentioned.
The colonel, when Ormsby arrived to continue his courtship, heard of
these rumors with alarm, and took every precaution to keep them from Dora
by maintaining a constant watch over her. He was as impatient at the
protracted engagement as was Ormsby himself, and one morning he attacked
Dora upon the question of the marriage.
"Dora, your engagement is a preposterous thing, child. It's a shame to
keep Ormsby waiting and dangling at your heels as you do. To look at you,
no one would suspect you two were lovers."
"We are not, father. You know that very well."
"Fiddlesticks! You're willing enough to let him fetch and carry for you,
and motor you all over the country, and smother you with flowers, and
load you with presents. Yet, you are always as glum as a church-warden
while he's here. And, when he's away, you seem to buck up and show that
you can be cheerful, if you like."
"I have submitted to an engagement with Mr. Ormsby more to please you,
father, than to please myself."
"Then, my child, why can't you please me by settling things right away.
Marriage is a serious responsibility. It is a woman's profession, and the
sooner she gets the hang of it, the quicker her promotion. I'm getting an
old man, and I want to see you married before I die."
"Don't talk like that, father."
"Well, I'm not a young man, am I? The doctor told me this morning--but
what the doctor told me has nothing to do with your feelings for
Ormsby."
"Father, father, you're not keeping anything from me. What did the doctor
say?"
The colonel saw his advantage, and, although he was inclined to smile,
pulled a long face, and sighed.
"My child, I want to see you comfortably settled before I die. You
wouldn't like me to leave you here alone with no one to look after
you--"
"Father, father! What are you saying? I'm sure the doctor has told you
something. I saw you looking very strange yesterday, and holding your
hand over your heart."
The colonel wanted to exclaim, "Indigestion!" but he shook his head, and
sighed mournfully once more.
"It's anxiety, my child, about your welfare. It's telling on me."
"I don't want to be an anxiety to you, father. I know I've not been a
cheerful companion lately, but--it will be worse for you when I get
married."
"Nothing of the sort, my girl. Ormsby and I have settled that we are not
to be separated. He's looking out for a big place, where there'll be a
corner for an old man. Come, come, have done with this shilly-shallying.
What on earth is the use of a two years' engagement? At the end of the
two years, do you suppose you will be able to break your word and
Ormsby's heart? No, my girl, it's not right. Either you are going to
marry Ormsby, or you are not. If you are, then it might as well be
to-morrow as next month, and next month as next year. And as for two
years--bah! Come, now, I'll fix it for you: four weeks from to-day."
"Impossible, father--impossible! I couldn't get my clothes ready--"
"Clothes be hanged! He's going to marry you, not your kit. You've got
clothes enough to supply a boarding-school. Six weeks--I give you six
weeks.--Ah! here's Ormsby. Ormsby, it's settled. Dora is to marry you in
six weeks, or--she's no child of mine."
"I--I didn't say so, father," cried Dora, blushing hotly.
"I'm the happiest man in America!" cried Ormsby, coming over with
outstretched hands, and a greater show of feeling than he had ever before
displayed. He looked exceedingly handsome, and almost boyish.
"Say it is true!--say it is true!" he cried.
"Oh, as you please, as you please." And, turning to her father to hide
her embarrassment, Dora murmured, "You're not really ill, father?"
"I tell you, my child, I shall be," roared the colonel, with a wink at
Ormsby, "if this anxiety goes on any longer. Publish the date, Ormsby.
Put it in the papers."
"At once!" cried the delighted lover. "I saw Farebrother to-day, and he
assures me he has just the place we want, not twenty miles out. Shall we
go over in the motor, and look at it? Will you come and choose your
home--our home, Dora?"
"Of course she will," cried the colonel, starting up with wonderful
alacrity for a sick man. "I'll go and order the motor, this minute."