"If Amanda would only marry me!" sighed Colonel A Pepper, as he
stacked the few dishes on the cupboard shelf and surveyed his untidy
little kitchen with disparaging eyes.
The once-contented Colonel was being consumed by two great
fires--remorse and love. For more years than he could remember he had
been a victim of a deplorable habit. Then two soft eyes shone into his
life, and in their light he saw things differently, and he tried to
redeem himself.
Even good fortune, in the shape of some half-forgotten meadow property
suddenly becoming valuable, had not revived his once genial spirits.
Remorse was with him because Miss Hill refused to marry him till he
overcame the habit which had earned him undesirable fame.
So day by day poor Colonel Pepper grew sicker of his lonely rooms, his
lonely life, and of himself.
"If Amanda only would," he murmured for the thousandth time, and
taking his hat he went out. The sunshine was bright, but did not give
him the old pleasure. He walked and walked, taking no interest in
anything. Presently he found himself on the outskirts of Middleville
within sound of the muffled roar of the flooded river, and he wandered
in its direction. At sight of the old wooden bridge he remembered he
had read that it was expected to give way to the pressure of the
rushing water. On the levee, which protected the low-lying country
above the city, were crowds of people watching the river.
"Ye've no rivers loike thot in Garminy," observed a half-drunken
Irishman. He and several more of his kind evidently were teasing a
little German.
Colonel Pepper had not stood there long before he heard a number of
witticisms from these red-faced men.
After the manner of his kind the German had stolidly swallowed the
remarks about his big head, and its shock of stubby hair, and his
checked buff trousers; but at reference to his native country his
little blue eyes snapped, and he made a remark that this river was
extremely like one in Germany.
At this the characteristic contrary spirit of the Irishman burst
forth.
"Dutchy, I'd loike ye to know ye're exaggeratin'," he said. "Garminy
ain't big enough for a river the loike o' this. An' I'll leave it to
me intilligint-lookin' fri'nd here."
Colonel Pepper, thus appealed to, blushed, looked embarrassed,
coughed, and then replied that he thought Germany was quite large
enough for such a river.
"Did ye study gographie?" questioned the Irishman with fine scorn.
Colonel Pepper retired within himself.
The unsteady and excitable fellow had been crowded to the rear by his
comrades, who evidently wished to lessen, in some degree, the
possibilities of a fight.
"Phwat's in thim rivers ye're spoutin' about?" asked one.
"Vater, ov course."
"Me wooden-shoed fri'nd, ye mane beer--beer."
"You insolt me, you red-headed----"
"Was that Dutchman addressin' of me?" demanded the half-drunken
Irishman, trying to push by his friends.
"It'd be a foiner river if it wasn't yaller," said a peacemaker,
holding his comrade.
In the slight scuffle which ensued one of the men unintentionally
jostled the German. His pipe fell to the ground. He bent to recover
it.
Through Colonel Pepper's whole being shot the lightning of his strange
impulse, a tingling tremor ran over him; a thousand giants lifted and
swung his arm. He fought to check it, but in vain. With his blood
bursting, with his strength expending itself in one irresistible
effort, with his soul expanding in fiendish, unholy glee he brought
his powerful hand down upon the bending German.
There was a great shout of laughter.
The German fell forward at length and knocked a man off the levee
wall. Then the laughter changed to excited shouts.
The wall was steep but not perfectly perpendicular. Several men made
frantic grabs at the sliding figure; they failed, however, to catch
it. Then the man turned over and rolled into the river with a great
splash. Cries of horror followed his disappearance in the muddy water,
and when, an instant later, his head bobbed up yells filled the air.
No one had time to help him. He tried ineffectually to reach the
levee; then the current whirled him away. The crowd caught a glimpse
of a white despairing face, which rose on the crest of a muddy wave,
and then was lost.
In the excitement of the moment the Colonel hurried from the spot.
Horror possessed him; he felt no less than a murderer. Again he walked
and walked. Retribution had overtaken him. The accursed habit that had
disgraced him for twenty years had wrought its punishment. Plunged
into despair he plodded along the streets, till at length, out of his
stupefaction, came the question--what would Amanda say?
With that an overwhelming truth awakened him. He was free. He might
have killed a man, but he certainly had killed his habit. He felt the
thing dead within him. Wildly he gazed around to see where he was, and
thought it a deed of fate that he had unconsciously traveled toward
the home of his love. For there before his eyes was Amanda's cottage
with the red geranium in her window. He ran to the window and tapped
mysteriously and peered within. Then he ran to the door and knocked.
It opened with a vigorous swing.
"Mr. Pepper, what do you mean--tapping on my window in such
clandestine manner, and in broad daylight, too?" demanded Miss Hill
with a stern voice none of her scholars had ever heard.
"Amanda, dear, I am a murderer!" cried Pepper, in tones of
unmistakable joy. "I am a murderer, but I'll never do _it_ again."
"Laws!" exclaimed Miss Hill
He pushed her aside and closed the door, and got possession of her
hands, all the time pouring out incoherent speech, in which only _it_
was distinguishable.
"Man alive! Are you crazy?" asked Miss Hill, getting away from him
into a corner. But it happened to be a corner with a couch, and when
her trembling legs touched it she sat down.
"Never, never again will I do it!" cried the Colonel, with a grand
gesture.
"Can you talk sense?" faltered the schoolmistress.
Colonel Pepper flung himself down beside her, and with many breathless
stops and repetitions and eloquent glances and applications of his
bandana to his heated face, he finally got his tragic story told.
"Is that all?" inquired Miss Hill, with a touch of sarcasm. "Why,
you're not a murderer, even if the man drowns, which isn't at all
likely. You've only fallen again."
"Fallen. But I never fell so terribly. This was the worst."
"Stuff! Where's the chivalry you tried to make me think you were full
of? Didn't you humiliate me, a poor helpless woman? Wasn't that worse?
Didn't you humiliate me before a crowd of people in a candy-store?
Could anything be more monstrous? You did _it_, you remember?"
"Amanda! Never! Never!" gasped the Colonel.
"You did, and I let you think I believed your lies."
"Amanda! I'll never do it again, never to any one, so long as I live.
It's dead, same as the card tricks. Forgive me, Amanda, and marry me.
I'm so fond of you, and I'm so lonely, and those meadow lots of mine,
they'll make me rich. Amanda, would you marry me? Would you love an
old duffer like me? Would you like a nice little home, and an
occasional silk dress, and no more teaching, and some one to love
you--always? Would you, Amanda, would you?"
"Yes, I would," replied Amanda.