JACK ONCE MORE.--THE WOES OF A LOVER.--NOT WISELY BUT TOO MANY.--WHILE
JACK IS TELLING HIS LITTLE STORY, THE ONES WHOM HE THUS ENTERTAINS HAVE
A SEPARATE MEETING.--THE BURSTING OF THE STORM.--THE LETTER OF "NUMBER
THREE."--THE WIDOW AND MISS PHILLIPS.--JACK HAS TO AVAIL HIMSELF OF THE
AID OF A CHAPLAIN Of HER MAJESTY'S FORCES.--JACK AN INJURED MAN.
It was late on the following morning when I rose. I expected to see
Jack bouncing in, but there were no signs of him. I went about on my
usual round, but he didn't turn up. I asked some of the other fellows,
but none of them had seen him. I began to be anxious. Duns were abroad.
Jack was in peril. The sheriff was near. There was no joke in it.
Perhaps he was nabbed, or perhaps he was in hiding. The fact that no
one had seen him was a very solemn and a very portentous one. I said
nothing about my feelings, but, as the day wore on without bringing any
sign of him, I began to be more anxious; and as the evening came I
retired to my den, and there thoughts of Jack intermingled themselves
with visions of Nora and Marion.
The hours of that evening passed very slowly. If I could have gone to
O'Halloran's, I might have forgotten my anxiety; but, as I couldn't go
to O'Halloran's, I could not get rid of my anxiety. What had become of
him? Was he in limbo? Had he taken Louie's advice and flitted? Was he
now gnashing his splendid set of teeth in drear confinement; or was he
making a fool of himself, and an ass, by persisting in indulging in
sentiment with Louie?
In the midst of these cogitations, eleven o'clock came, and a few
moments after in bounced Jack himself.
I met him as the prodigal son was met by his father.
He was gloomy. There was a cloud on his broad, Jovian, hilarious,
Olympian brow, with its clustering ambrosial locks.
"Jack, old fellow! You come like sunshine through a fog. I've been
bothering about you all day. Have you been nabbed? Are the duns abroad?
Has the sheriff invited you to a friendly and very confidential
conversation? You haven't been here for two days."
"Yes, I have," said Jack, "I was here last night, and waited till
three, and then walked off to sleep on it. You're up to something
yourself, old man, but look out. Take warning by me. Don't plunge in
too deep. For my part, I haven't the heart to pursue the subject. I've
got beyond the head-stone even. The river's the place for me. But,
Macrorie, promise me one thing."
"Oh, of course--all right--go ahead."
"Well, if I jump into the river, don't let them drag for me. Let me
calmly drift away, and be borne off into the Atlantic Ocean. I want
oblivion. Hang headstones! Let Anderson slide."
Saying this, Jack crammed some tobacco into his pipe, lighted it, flung
himself into a chair, and began smoking most vigorously. I watched him
for some time in silence. There was a dark cloud on his sunny brow; he
looked woe-begone and dismal, and, though such expressions were
altogether out of harmony with the style of his face, yet to a friendly
eye they were sufficiently visible. I saw that something new had
occurred. So I waited for a time, thinking that he would volunteer his
confidence; but, as he did not, I thought I would ask for it.
"By Jove!" said I, at last "Hang it, Jack, do you know, old man, you
seem to be awfully cut up about something--hit hard--and all that sort
of thing. What's up? Any thing new? Out with it--clean breast, and all
that. 'Pon my life, I never saw you so cut up before. What is it?"
Jack took his pipe from his mouth, rubbed his forehead violently,
stared at me for a few moments, and then slowly ejaculated.
"There's a beastly row--tremendous--no end--that's what there is."
"A row?"
"Yes--no end of a row."
"Who? What? Which of them?"
"All of them. Yesterday, and to-day, and to be continued to-morrow.
Such is life. Sic transit, et cetera. Good Lord! Macrorie, what's a
fellow to do but drown himself? Yes, my boy--oblivion! that's what I
want. And I'll have it. This life isn't the thing for me. I was never
made to be badgered. The chief end of man is for other things than
getting snubbed by woman. And I'm not going to stand it. Here, close
by, is a convenient river. I'll seek an acquaintance with its icy tide,
rather than have another day like this."
"But I'm all in the dark. Tell what it is that has happened."
Jack inhaled a few more whiffs of the smoke that cheers but not
inebriates, and then found voice to speak:
"You see it began yesterday. I started off at peace with the world, and
went most dutifully to call on Miss Phillips. Well, I went in and found
her as cool as an icicle. I didn't know what was up, and proceeded to
do the injured innocent. Whereupon she turned upon me, and gave it to
me then and there, hot and heavy. I didn't think it was in her. I
really didn't--by Jove! The way she gave it to me," and Jack paused in
wonder.
"What about?" said I.
"The widow!" groaned Jack.
"The widow?" I repeated.
"Yes--the widow."
"But how did she hear about it so soon?"
"Oh, easy enough. It's all over town now, you know. Her friends here
heard of it, and some were incredulous, and others were indignant. At
any rate, both classes rushed with delightful unanimity to inform her,
so you may imagine the state of mind I found her in.
"You can easily imagine what she said. I don't think much of your
imagination, Macrorie, but in this case it don't require a very vivid
one. The worst of it is, she was quite right to feel indignant. The
only thing about it all that gave me the smallest relief, was the fact
that she didn't do the pathetic. She didn't shed a tear. She simply
questioned me. She was as stiff as a ramrod, and as cold as a stone.
There was no mercy in her, and no consideration for a fellow's
feelings. She succeeded in making out that I was the most contemptible
fellow living."
"And what did you say?"
"Say? What could I say? She forced me to own up about the widow. Hang
it, you know I can't lie. So, after trying to dodge her questions, I
answered them. She wouldn't let me dodge them. But there was one thing
left. I swore to her, by all that was true, that I didn't care a fig
for the widow, that my engagement with her arose altogether through a
mistake. She pressed me hard on this, and I had to tell this too."
"What? Look here, Jack--you didn't drag in Louie into your confounded
scrape?"
"Do you think I'm such a villain as that?" said Jack, indignantly. "No
--of course I didn't. Louie--I'd die first. No. I told her some story
about my mistaking her for a friend, whose name I didn't mention. I
told her that I took the widow's hand by mistake--just in fun, you
know--thinking it was my friend, and all that; and before I knew it the
widow had nabbed me."
"Well?"
"Well, she didn't condescend to ask the name of my friend. She thought
the widow was enough at a time, I suppose, and so she asked me about
the state of my feelings toward her. And here I expressed myself
frankly. I told her that my only desire was to get out of her clutches
--that it was all a mistake, and that I was in an infernal scrape, and
didn't know how to get out of it.
"Such strong language as this mollified her a little, and she began to
believe me. Yet she did not soften altogether. At last, I pitched into
the widow hot and heavy. This restored her to her usual self. She
forgave me altogether. She even said that she was sorry for me. She
hinted, too, that if she ever saw the widow, she'd have it out with
her."
"Heaven forbid!" said I. "Keep them apart, Jack, if you can."
Jack groaned.
"So it's all right, is it? I congratulate you--as far as it's worth
congratulation, you know. So you got out of it, did you? A 'full,
fresh, frank, free, formal, ample, exhaustive, and perfectly
satisfactory explanation,' hey? That's the style of thing, is it?"
Jack gnashed his teeth.
"Come, now--old boy--no chaff. I'm beyond that. Can't stand it. Fact
is, you haven't heard the whole story yet, and I don't feel like
telling the rest of it, if you interrupt a fellow with your confounded
humbug."
"Go ahead--don't fear, Jack--I won't chaff."
Jack drew a long breath.
"Well, then--I took her out for a drive. We had a very good time,
though both of us were a little preoccupied, and I thought she had
altered awfully from what she used to be; and then, you know, after
leaving her, I went to see the widow."
"You didn't tell her where you were going, of course?"
"So," said Jack, with a sigh. "Well, you see, I went to the widow, and
I found that she had heard about my calling on Miss Phillips, and
driving out with her for a couple of hours, and I don't know what else.
She was calm, and quiet, and cool, and simply wanted to know what it
all meant. Well, do you know that sort of coolness is the very thing
that I can't stand. If she'd raved at me, or scolded, or been
passionate, or gone on in any kind of a way, I could have dealt with
her; but with a person like that, who is so calm, and cool, and quiet,
I haven't the faintest idea how to act.
"I mumbled something or other about 'old friendship'--'stranger in a
strange land'--horrid rot--what an ass she must have thought me!--but
that's the way it was. She didn't say any thing. She began to talk
about something else in a conventional way--the weather, I think. I
couldn't do any thing. I made a vague attempt at friendly remonstrance
with her about her coolness; but she didn't notice it. She went on
talking about the weather. She was convinced that it would snow. I, for
my part, was convinced that there was going to be a storm--a hurricane
--a tornado--any thing. But she only smiled at my vehemence, and
finally I left, with a general idea that there was thunder in the air.
"Well, you know, I then went off to see Louie. But I didn't get any
satisfaction there. The other girls were present, and the aunt. There
wasn't any whist, and so I had to do the agreeable to the whole party.
I waited until late, in the hope that some chance might turn up of a
private chat with Louie, but none came. So at last I came home, feeling
a general disgust with the world and the things of the world."
"Rather hard, that," said I, as Jack relapsed into moody silence.
"Hard?" said he; "that was yesterday, but it was nothing to what I met
with to-day."
"To-day?--why, what's up worse than that?"
"Every thing. But I'll go on and make a clean breast of it. Only don't
laugh at me, Macrorie, or I'll cut."
"Laugh? Do I ever laugh?"
Jack took a few more puffs, and relieved his sorrow-laden breast by
several preliminary and preparatory sighs, after which he proceeded:
"To-day," he began, "I got up late. I felt heavy. I anticipated a
general row. I dressed. I breakfasted, and, just as I was finishing,
the row began. A letter was brought in from the post-office. It was
from lumber Three."
"Number Three?" I cried.
"Number Three," repeated Jack. "As if it wasn't bad enough already, she
must come forward to add herself to those who were already crushing me
to the earth, and driving me mad. It seemed hard, by Jove! I tell you
what it is, old chap, nobody's so remorseless as a woman. Even my duns
have been more merciful to me than these friends whom I love. It's too
bad, by Jove, it is!
"Well. Number Three's letter was simply tremendous. She had heard every
thing. I've already told you that she keeps the run of me pretty well,
though how she manages it I can't imagine--and now it seems she heard,
on the same day, of my engagement to the widow, and of the arrival of
Miss Phillips, to whom I was also engaged. This news seemed to drive
her wild with indignation. She mentioned these facts to me, and ordered
me to deny them at once. She declared that it was impossible for any
gentleman to act so dishonorably, and said that nothing but the
character of her informant could lead her to ask me to deny such foul
slanders.
"That's the way she put it. That's the style of thing she flung at me
when I was already on my back. That's Number Three for you! And the
worst of it is, I don't know what to say in reply. I tell you what it
is now, Macrorie, that was a pretty tough beginning for the day. I felt
it, and I left my room with a dark presentiment in my mind, and the
same general idea of a brooding thunder-storm, which I had experienced
the evening before.
"Then I went to see Miss Phillips, and this was my frame of mind. I
found her calm, cold, and stiff as an iceberg. Not a single kind word.
No consideration for a fellow at all. I implored her to tell me what
was the matter. She didn't rail at me; she didn't reproach me; but
proceeded in the same cruel, inconsiderate, iceberg fashion, to tell me
what the matter was. And I tell you, old boy, the long and the short of
it was, there was the very mischief to pay, and the last place in
Quebec that I ought to have entered was that particular place. But
then, how did I know? Besides, I wanted to see her."
"What was it?" I asked, seeing Jack hesitate.
"What! Why, who do you think had been there? The widow herself! She had
come to call on Miss Phillips, and came with a fixed design on me. In a
few moments she managed to introduce my name. Trotting me out in that
fashion doesn't strike me as being altogether fair, but she did it. Mrs.
Llewelopen, who is Miss Phillips's aunt, took her up rather
warmly, and informed her that I was engaged to Miss Phillips. The widow
smiled, and said I was a sad man, for I had told her, when I engaged
myself to her, that my affair with Miss Phillips was all broken off,
and had repeated the same thing two evenings before. She also informed
them that I visited her every day, and was most devoted. To all this
Miss Phillips had to listen, and could not say one word. She had sense
enough, however, to decline any altercation with the widow, and reserve
her remarks for me. And now, old boy, you see what I caught on entering
the presence of Miss Phillips. She did not weep; she did not sigh; she
did not reproach; she did not cry--she simply questioned me, standing
before me cold and icy, and flinging her bitter questions at me. The
widow had said this and that. The widow had repeated such and such
words of mine. The widow had also subjected her to bitter shame and
mortification. And what had I to say? She was too much of a lady to
denounce or to scold, and too high-hearted even to taunt me; too proud,
too lofty, to deign to show that she felt the cut; she only questioned
me; she only asked me to explain such and such things. Well, I tried to
explain, and gave a full and frank account of every thing, and, as far
as the widow was concerned, I was perfectly truthful. I declared again
that it was all a mistake, and that I'd give any thing to get rid of
her. This was all perfectly true, but it wasn't by any means
satisfactory to Miss Phillips. She's awfully high-strung, you know. She
couldn't overlook the fact that I had given I the widow to understand
that it was all broken off with us. I had never said so, but I had let
the widow think so, and that was enough.
"Well, you know, I got huffy at last, and said she didn't make
allowances for a fellow, and all that I told her that I was awfully
careless, and was always getting into confounded scrapes, but that it
would all turn out right in the end, and some day she'd understand it
all. Finally, I felt so confoundedly mean, and so exactly like some
infernal whipped cur, that I then and there asked her to take me, on
the spot, as I was, and fulfil her vow to me. I swore that the widow
was nothing to me, and wished she was in Jericho. At this she smiled
slightly, and said that I didn't know what I was saying, and, in fact,
declined my self-sacrificing offer. So there I was--and I'll be hanged,
Macrorie, isn't it odd?--there's the third person that's refused to
marry me off-hand! I vow I did what I could. I offered to marry her at
once, and she declined just as the others did. With that I turned the
tables on her, reproached her for her coldness, told her that I had
given her the highest possible mark of my regard, and bade her adieu.
We shook hands. Hers was very languid, and she looked at me quite
indifferently. I told her that she'd feel differently to-morrow, and
she said perhaps she might And so I left her.
"Well, then, I had the widow to visit, but the letter and the affair
with Miss Phillips had worn out my resources. In any ordinary case, the
widow was too many guns for me, but, in a case like this, she was
formidable beyond all description. So I hunted up the chaplain, and
made him go with me. He's a good fellow, and is acquainted with her a
little, and I knew that she liked him. So we went off there together.
Well, do you know, Macrorie, I believe that woman saw through the whole
thing, and knew why the chaplain had come as well as I did. She greeted
me civilly, but rather shortly; and there was a half-smile on her
mouth, confound it! She's an awfully pretty woman, too! We were there
for a couple of hours. She made us dine--that is to say, I expected to
dine as a matter of course, and she invited the chaplain. So we stayed,
and I think for two hours I did not exchange a dozen words with her.
She directed her conversation almost exclusively to the chaplain. I
began to feel jealous at last, and tried to get her attention, but it
was no go. I'm rather dull, you know--good-natured, and all that, but
not clever--while the chaplain is one of the cleverest men going; and
the widow's awfully clever, too. They got beyond me in no time. They
were talking all sorts of stuff about Gregorian chants, ecclesiastic
symbolism, mediaeval hymns, the lion of St Mark, chasuble, alb, and all
that sort of thing, you know, no end, and I sat like a log listening,
just the same as though they spoke Chinese, while the widow took no
more notice of me than if I'd been a Chinaman. And she kept up that
till we left. And that was her way of paying me off. And the chaplain
thought she was an awfully clever woman, and admired her--no end. And I
felt as jealous as Othello.
"Then I hurried off to Louie. But luck was against me. There was a lot
of fellows there, and I didn't get a chance. I only got a pleasant
greeting and a bright look, that was all. I was longing to get her into
a corner, and have a little comfort, and a little good advice. But I
couldn't. Misfortunes never come singly. To-day every thing has been
blacker than midnight. Number Three, Miss Phillips, and the widow, are
all turning against a fellow. I think it's infernally hard. I feel Miss
Phillips's treatment worst. She had no business to come here at all
when I thought she was safe in New Brunswick. I dare say I could have
wriggled through, but she came and precipitated the catastrophe, as
the saying is. Then, again, why didn't she take me when I offered
myself? And, for that matter, why didn't Number Three take me that
other time when I was ready, and asked her to fly with me? I'll be
hanged if I don't think I've had an abominably hard time of it! And now
I'm fairly cornered, and you must see plainly why I'm thinking of the
river. If I take to it, they'll shed a tear over me, I know; whereas,
if I don't, they'll all pitch into me, and Louie'll only laugh. Look
here, old boy, I'll give up women forever."
"What! And Louie, too?"
"Oh, that's a different thing altogether," said Jack; and he subsided
into a deep fit of melancholy musing.