What the nature of the telegram was which had produced such an effect on
the feelings and plans of Mr. William Murray Bradshaw nobody especially
interested knew but himself. We may conjecture that it announced some
fact, which had leaked out a little prematurely, relating to the issue
of the great land-case in which the firm was interested. However that
might be, Mr. Bradshaw no sooner heard that Myrtle had suddenly left
the city for Oxbow Village,--for what reason he puzzled himself to
guess,--than he determined to follow her at once, and take up the
conversation he had begun at the party where it left off. And as the
young poet had received his quietus for the present at the publisher's,
and as Master Gridley had nothing specially to detain him, they too
returned at about the same time, and so our old acquaintances were
once more together within the familiar precincts where we have been
accustomed to see them.
Master Gridley did not like playing the part of a spy, but it must be
remembered that he was an old college officer, and had something of the
detective's sagacity, and a certain cunning derived from the habit of
keeping an eye on mischievous students. If any underhand contrivance was
at work, involving the welfare of any one in whom he was interested, he
was a dangerous person for the plotters, for he had plenty of time to
attend to them, and would be apt to take a kind of pleasure in matching
his wits against another crafty person's,--such a one, for instance, as
Mr. Macchiavelli Bradshaw.
Perhaps he caught some words of that gentleman's conversation at the
party; at any rate, he could not fail to observe his manner. When he
found that the young man had followed Myrtle back to the village, he
suspected something more than a coincidence. When he learned that he was
assiduously visiting The Poplars, and that he was in close communication
with Miss Cynthia Badlam, he felt sure that he was pressing the siege
of Myrtle's heart. But that there was some difficulty in the way was
equally clear to him, for he ascertained, through channels which the
attentive reader will soon have means of conjecturing, that Myrtle had
seen him but once in the week following his return, and that in
the presence of her dragons. She had various excuses when he
called,--headaches, perhaps, among the rest, as these are staple
articles on such occasions. But Master Gridley knew his man too well to
think that slight obstacles would prevent his going forward to effect
his purpose.
“I think he will get her; if he holds on,” the old man said to himself,
“and he won't let go in a hurry, if there were any real love about
it--but surely he is incapable of such a human weakness as the tender
passion. What does all this sudden concentration upon the girl mean? He
knows something about her that we don't know,--that must be it. What did
he hide that paper for, a year ago and more? Could that have anything to
do with his pursuit of Myrtle Hazard today?”
Master Gridley paused as he asked this question of himself, for a
luminous idea had struck him. Consulting daily with Cynthia Badlam, was
he? Could there be a conspiracy between these two persons to conceal
some important fact, or to keep something back until it would be for
their common interest to have it made known?
Now Mistress Kitty Fagan was devoted, heart and soul, to Myrtle Hazard,
and ever since she had received the young girl from Mr. Gridley's hands,
when he brought her back safe and sound after her memorable adventure,
had considered him as Myrtle's best friend and natural protector.
These simple creatures, whose thoughts are not taken up, like those of
educated people, with the care of a great museum of dead phrases, are
very quick to see the live facts which are going on about them. Mr.
Gridley had met her, more or less accidentally, several times of late,
and inquired very particularly about Myrtle, and how she got along
at the house since her return, and whether she was getting over her
headaches, and how they treated her in the family.
“Bliss your heart, Mr. Gridley,” Kitty said to him on one of these
occasions, “it's ahltogither changed intirely. Sure Miss Myrtle does
jist iverythin' she likes, an' Miss Withers niver middles with her
at ahl, excip' jist to roll up her eyes an' look as if she was the
hid-moorner at a funeril whiniver Miss Myrtle says she wants to do this
or that, or to go here or there. It's Miss Badlam that's ahlwiz after
her, an' a-watchin' her,--she thinks she's cunnin'er than a cat, but
there 's other folks that's got eyes an' ears as good as hers. It's that
Mr. Bridshaw that's a puttin' his head together with Miss Badlam for
somethin' or other, an' I don't believe there's no good in it, for what
does the fox an' the cat be a whisperin' about, as if they was thaves
an' incind'ries, if there ain't no mischief hatchin'?”
“Why, Kitty,” he said, “what mischief do you think is going on, and who
is to be harmed?”
“O Mr. Gridley,” she answered, “if there ain't somebody to be chated
somehow, then I don't know an honest man and woman from two rogues. An'
have n't I heard Miss Myrtle's name whispered as if there was somethin'
goin' on agin' her, an' they was afraid the tahk would go out through
the doors, an' up through the chimbley? I don't want to tell no tales,
Mr. Gridley, nor to hurt no honest body, for I'm a poor woman, Mr.
Gridley, but I comes of dacent folks, an' I vallies my repitation an'
character as much as if I was dressed in silks and satins instead of
this mane old gown, savin' your presence, which is the best I 've got,
an' niver a dollar to buy another. But if I iver I hears a word, Mr.
Gridley, that manes any kind of a mischief to Miss Myrtle,--the Lard
bliss her soul an' keep ahl the divils away from her!--I'll be runnin'
straight down here to tell ye ahl about it,--be right sure o' that, Mr.
Gridley.”
“Nothing must happen to Myrtle,” he said, “that we can help. If you see
anything more that looks wrong, you had better come down here at once
and let me know, as you say you will. At once, you understand. And,
Kitty, I am a little particular about the dress of people who come to
see me, so that if you would just take the trouble to get you a tidy
pattern of gingham or calico, or whatever you like of that sort for
a gown, you would please me; and perhaps this little trifle will be a
convenience to you when you come to pay for it.”
Kitty thanked him with all the national accompaniments, and trotted off
to the store, where Mr. Gifted Hopkins displayed the native amiability
of his temper by fumbling down everything in the shape of ginghams and
calicoes they had on the shelves, without a murmur at the taste of his
customer, who found it hard to get a pattern sufficiently emphatic for
her taste. She succeeded at last, and laid down a five-dollar bill as if
she were as used to the pleasing figure on its face as to the sight of
her own five digits.
Master Byles Gridley had struck a spade deeper than he knew into his
first countermine, for Kitty had none of those delicate scruples about
the means of obtaining information which might have embarrassed a
diplomatist of higher degree.