MR. ATHERDEN.
"Really and truly, Charlie, I never should have known you; you look so
perfectly elegant."
"Thank you, ma'am!" And Charlie bowed low before his cousin, who joined
him in the laugh at the unexpected form that her intended compliment had
taken.
"You know what I mean," she said saucily. "Of course, you're always a
dear old boy, even if you aren't a beauty. But now there's a sort of
young man look to you, that makes me half afraid of you."
"Perhaps, if you stayed so, you'd treat me a little better," suggested
Charlie teasingly. "I feel most uncommon queer, though. Do you honestly
like the looks, Allie?"
Allie dropped into an easy-chair, and surveyed him from head to foot.
"Now turn around very slowly," she commanded; "and then walk off a few
steps, so. Yes," she added, after an admiring pause; "you really do
look very well, considering who you are; only I never, never should know
you. It just changes you all over, and makes you seem four or five years
older."
"Wish I were!" remarked Charlie meditatively. "Only I should be ready
for college then, and have to go back East and leave you. What a jolly
year this has been!"
"Yes, it has," assented Allie absently. She was still looking up at her
cousin, with a feeling of sisterly pride in the tall, straight figure
before her.
Montana had evidently agreed with the boy, for, during the year he had
spent there, he had grown so rapidly as to leave Howard far below him.
Contrary to the custom of most boys, he bore his added inches with
perfect ease, and had entirely escaped the stage of awkward
consciousness, which falls to the lot of nearly all growing lads. Even
now, young as he was, there was a quiet dignity in his manner which,
combined with his manly figure, made it seem high time that he should
take the first marked step towards man's estate, and leave off
knickerbockers. The new suit, ordered from New York, had come that day;
and Charlie had dressed himself up in it, and appeared before Allie, to
demand her respectful attention.
Had Charlie attired himself in a checked apron and sunbonnet, it would
have seemed a thoroughly admirable costume to his cousin's eyes; but, on
this particular evening, Allie's praise was well-merited, for the new
suit was unmistakably a success. Charlie was one of those few, but
fortunate boys who can wear even shabby clothes with an air that gives
them a certain elegance; and he had grace enough to enable him to escape
the usual awkwardness, which comes to the young girl in managing her
first train, to the boy in appearing in his first long suit. As Allie
had said it made him look much older and more dignified, until she
almost felt that she had lost her jovial playfellow, and stood in the
presence of a fine young man. Still, she liked the change, as long as it
really was the same old Charlie; and she continued to watch him, while a
little contented smile gathered about the corners of her mouth.
"Yes," she repeated; "I should hardly have known you. Come here a
minute, and I can change you so you wouldn't recognize yourself a bit."
Charlie laughed at the seriousness of her tone, as he seated himself on
the arm of her chair, while she patted and poked at his hair, until she
had parted it in the middle and brushed it away from his forehead, where
it usually lay in a close, short fringe. She studied the effect for a
moment; then she gently pulled off his glasses.
"Poor old boy!" she said caressingly, as she drew her finger down along
the narrow white scar that crossed his upper lid. "You still carry your
beauty-spot; don't you? I wish 'twould go away."
"What for? Does it show so very much?" asked Charlie.
"No, not a bit, with your glasses on; but I never like to think back to
that horrid day," she replied, with a frown. "I was sure you were going
to die, or something."
"Well, I didn't. You see, I'm tough," returned Charlie placidly.
"Besides, we had some good fun together, after the first week or two.
But how do you like the looks?"
"Your own great-grandmother wouldn't have any idea who you were," said
Allie decidedly.
"Most likely not," observed Charlie.
"But just you go and look in the glass, and see for yourself!" And Allie
sprang up, and dragged her cousin to the nearest mirror. All at once
she began to caper madly about the room.
"What's struck you, Allie?" inquired Charlie, pausing in his
contemplation of himself to stare at his excited cousin.
"I've just had the most lovely idea," said Allie incoherently. "It's too
much fun for anything, and we must do it."
"Do what?"
"Well, now you see here," she was beginning, with sudden solemnity, when
her cousin interrupted her,--
"Give me my glasses, then."
"Yes, I know that; but listen! Don't you wear your suit again this week,
nor tell anybody you have it, and don't let Howard tell, either. Next
Tuesday is Mrs. Fisher's 'At Home,' you know; and we'll dress you up,
and you can go over there, and everybody will take you for a strange
young man. Won't it be fun?"
"Fine!" responded Charlie, as he led the way back to the parlor, and
took his favorite position, leaning against the mantel. "Only I'm afraid
everybody'd know me."
"Truly they wouldn't," answered Allie. "Can't you buy a mustache down at
Bright's? That would finish it all up, and nobody would ever have any
idea who you are. You're as tall as papa is, now."
"Well, I'll think about it," said Charlie. "I'm a little bit afraid to
try, only it would be such immense fun. You keep mum about it, though,
and maybe we can put it through."
Allie carried her point; and, directly after dinner, the next Tuesday
evening, Howard was solemnly warned not to go near his room. A little
later Allie knocked at the door and was admitted. Just across the
threshold, she stopped in surprise and delight, as she caught sight of
the elegant young man who rose to meet her.
"How perfectly splendid!" she exclaimed. "Where did you ever get such a
mustache? It just matches your hair, and looks as if it must grow on."
"Hope I don't lose it off!" returned Charlie fervently, as he rendered
himself temporarily cross-eyed, in his efforts to catch a glimpse of the
silky thatch on his upper lip. "But I wish you'd take my hair in hand,
Allie; it's so used to a bang, that it just won't stay parted."
"Let me try." And Allie took the comb, and devoted herself to coaxing
her cousin's refractory locks to lie in the desired position. "It wants
to be just in the middle, for you're going to be the dearest little
dudelet you ever saw. Now take off your glasses."
"Oh, I must have those," remonstrated Charlie. "I'm blind as a bat
without them, and I shall be sure to run into something, and tip it
over."
"No, you won't," said Allie composedly. "If you wear them, people will
be sure to know you."
"But, if I take them off, my scar will show," argued Charlie; "and that
will give it all away. But, I say, I have some eye-glasses somewhere,
that the oculist gave me, to start with. I don't ever wear them, 'cause
they wouldn't stick to my nose. I lost them off into the soup, the first
night at dinner, and I bought my spectacles early the next morning; but
perhaps I can keep them on now."
"I should think you ought to; your nose is large enough," remarked
Allie, with calm disrespect. "But get them; I can tell better when I see
them."
There was an interval of silence, while Charlie rummaged in his bureau
drawers. At length he unearthed the little case from a box containing an
odd assortment of light hardware, broken knives, stray nails, an awl or
two, and a collection of trout reels and flies.
"Here 'tis," he said. "I remember now; I used it to wind my best line
on. How will they go?" And he turned to face his cousin, with a
conscious laugh which promptly dislodged the glasses from his nose.
"That's better," said Allie approvingly; "they don't look a bit the
same. I don't like them as well as I do the spectacles, for all the
time; but they change you more. Now remember to be very easy and
elegant, and don't act shy. Behave as if you thought you were very good
to speak to them, and they'll like you all the better. And be sure you
don't go too early."
"But what are you going to do now?" demanded Charlie, as she turned to
the door. "You aren't going to be mean enough to leave me here all
alone, till it's time to go?"
"I'm going to dress me," returned Allie. "I begged an invitation from
Marjorie, and I'm going over there with mamma. You don't suppose that
I'm going to lose all the fun, do you?" And she departed.
Society in Blue Creek was by no means as simple as a stranger might have
been led to expect. During the winter months, there were few evenings
that were not given up to some entertainment; and the little set to
which the Burnams and Fishers and Everetts belonged were the gayest of
the gay, with dinner parties and impromptu dances following one another
in rapid succession. The enjoyment of these festivities was in no wise
marred by the fact that one always met exactly the same people. Though
the resources of the camp were not great, yet this set of friends was a
thoroughly congenial one, consisting, as it did, of a dozen or more
young married couples, together with several stray bachelors and a very
few older people. Young women were deplorably scarce in Blue Creek, and,
for a year, Louise had been the acknowledged belle among them, as she
would have been, however, in the face of many rivals. Strangers, who
were attracted to her side by her beauty, remained there, charmed by her
easy manners and her ready wit; so, wherever she went she was sure to be
the central figure of a little group of admirers, of whom Dr. Brownlee
was usually the one nearest her side.
According to one of the pleasant customs of the little town, Mrs. Fisher
had her weekly reception day. On Tuesday evenings, her house was always
filled with the friends whom, with rare tact, she left to entertain
themselves, while she moved up and down her charming rooms, with a word
to one and a smile for another, now breaking in upon a flirtation which
threatened to last too long, now bringing stray wallflowers into the
middle of some hospitable group, and never for an instant forgetting to
keep a watchful eye over any stranger who might chance to be among her
guests. There was an attractive informality about these evenings, when
one was at liberty to appear in a street gown, or an evening costume,
and where the little supper was so simple as merely to be a pleasant
break in the midst of the dancing, but not to suggest the idea of an
overburdened hostess, struggling to feed a ravenous multitude. No one
else in the town had quite the same gift for entertaining as Mrs.
Fisher; no one else could carry out an "At Home" with quite such
delightful simplicity. She gave them the use of her house, together with
a cordial, unaffected welcome, and she left the rest to take care of
itself. With this happy talent for receiving her friends, it was not
strange that the tall, blonde woman was one of the most popular matrons
in the camp.
This Tuesday evening was bidding fair to be as pleasant as its
predecessors had been. The rooms were filled, and the air was echoing
with the soft buzz of voices. A little pause in the dancing had
scattered the young people, who were wandering about, some in the back
parlor, watching the older guests grouped about the whist tables, some
in the "den," across the hall, where the only light came from the great
blazing fire which flickered over the pictures on the walls, and over
the easy-chairs scattered about the cosy room. At the very back of the
broad hall sat Louise and Dr. Brownlee, resting after their waltz, while
they talked of one thing and another, the every-day interests which they
shared in common. All at once Mrs. Fisher stood before them, with a
young man at her side.
"I have been looking for you, Louise," she said. "Here is some one that
I want to introduce to you: Mr. Atherden, Miss Everett. Mr. Atherden is
a stranger, Miss Everett," she added; "and I leave it to you to make him
feel at home. Dr. Brownlee, I wish you'd come and play the agreeable to
Mrs. Nelson; she is looking dreadfully bored." And she led him away
towards the parlor.
As Louise glanced up, at the introduction, she had been attracted by the
young stranger before her. He was a man of about her own age,
apparently, not very tall, but with a proud, erect carriage and a simple
dignity which gave him the look of being a much larger man. His face, in
spite of his eye-glasses and his silky, brown mustache, was almost
boyish in its outlines; and he was faultlessly dressed, from his white
tie and the white carnation in his button-hole, down to the toes of his
shining shoes. His whole appearance was so likable that Louise welcomed
him cordially, in spite of her regret at losing the doctor's society,
and at once set about making him feel at home.
"How long have you been in Blue Creek, Mr. Atherden?" she asked
politely. "I don't remember meeting you before."
"I only came a week ago," replied Mr. Atherden, as he took possession of
the chair which Dr. Brownlee had so lately quitted. "I've been in San
Francisco, the last two or three years; but I came up here to see
about"--He hesitated for an instant; then he went on, with a little
laugh. "Well, the fact is, I came up here to open an office. I'm a
doctor, you know, and I heard that you hadn't a very good one here, and
that there was a possible opening for another man."
"Indeed?" Louise's tone was icy in its politeness.
"Yes," resumed the young man, eyeing her closely; "so I thought I'd run
up here and see for myself; but I found a first-rate man was in ahead of
me, so I must depart in search of a fresh field."
"Then you are not to stay long?" said Louise, as she smiled on him with
all her former kindness. "Blue Creek is really a pleasant place when you
are used to it. You are unfortunate in seeing it at this season."
Her companion made some light answer, and they went on chatting like a
pair of old friends. Louise was soon delighted to find that the stranger
cared for music as much as she did, and was familiar with the best works
of the masters, while he showed a thorough acquaintance with New York
and its surroundings which was remarkable in a man who professed to have
spent his life in California. There was something indescribably charming
in his quiet ease of manner and in his boyish fun; and Louise found
herself thoroughly enjoying their pleasant, off-hand conversation,
though all the time she was conscious of a hazy resemblance to some one
whom she had met before. Moved by this uncertain idea, she studied him
closely, while in her own mind she went over and over her list of
acquaintances, trying to find the person of whom she was thinking. Nor
could she tell wherein the resemblance lay, whether in the voice, the
manner, or in some feature; and yet it was there all the time, a
fleeting, haunting likeness to some former friend. Then she thought she
had a clue, for, in answer to a sudden jest on her part, the stranger
laughed until his glasses fell off and dropped to the floor, and as he
stooped to pick them up, she caught sight of a tiny scar on his right
eyelid. Surely she had seen that scar before, or, at least, one much
like it; and once more she went through her friends, trying to place the
mark, but with no better success than before.
For a long half hour they sat there, while Mr. Atherden entertained her
so well that she was quite unconscious of Dr. Brownlee, who came to the
parlor door more than once to cast a longing glance in her direction.
But her back was turned towards him, and she was too much interested in
their talk to heed the proudly defiant glance with which Mr. Atherden
met the gaze of his rival. The doctor was not so slow to interpret his
meaning, and he gave his mustache a vicious jerk, as he walked away to
pay his homage at some other shrine. Mr. Atherden watched him with an
amused smile; then he turned to Allie who stood before him with a plate
of sandwiches in her hand.
"Ah, thank you, my little maid," he said with infinite condescension,
while he helped Louise and then himself. "Mrs. Fisher is to be
congratulated upon having such charming assistants." And he looked
straight up into the eyes of Allie, who flushed a rosy red as she
hurriedly turned away.
But supper was over, and the tempting notes of a waltz rang out from the
piano in the parlor. Mr. Atherden rose to his feet.
"It is a long time since I have danced, Miss Everett; may I not have the
pleasure now?" And settling his glasses firmly on his nose, he smiled
invitingly down at her, as he stood waiting to lead her to the parlor.
Louise hesitated for a moment. The doctor had asked her for this very
waltz; but already the room was full of moving couples, and she could
see him dancing with the pretty young teacher, lately come from the
East. With a little feeling of pique she turned to her escort, and was
soon gliding about the room with an apparent delight in her partner,
who was dancing quite as well as he had talked. The waltz ended, she
turned away, without a glance at the neglectful doctor, and followed her
new acquaintance to their former seats in the hall.
"How well you waltz!" she said frankly, as she fanned herself. "It's
such a rare thing to meet a really good dancer out here."
"Such a partner would inspire anyone," returned her companion gallantly,
while he twirled his mustache with a complacent delight in it which
convinced Louise that it was of recent growth.
Then he entered into a spirited account of his journey and his
adventures in coming into the strange place, while Louise sat leaning
back in her chair, watching him, haunted by that vague resemblance. Dr.
Brownlee was standing just inside the parlor door with his eyes fixed
upon them longingly, although he was apparently engrossed by the
sprightly conversation of his former partner. But Mr. Atherden made no
motion as if to leave his place; he merely glared defiantly at the
doctor, while he twisted his mustache and chatted on, and the doctor was
forced to go away again.
Notwithstanding her apparent unconsciousness of his presence, Louise
had looked after him with a little wistful expression in her blue eyes.
At that moment, she heard a sudden exclamation, and she turned back to
face her companion once more, just in time to see the silky brown
mustache yield to too violent a jerk and fall into his lap, while the
young man, in no wise embarrassed by the accident, leaned back in his
chair and burst into a shout of laughter. One glance at him had told her
the secret of the puzzling resemblance; and she echoed his laugh with a
thorough enjoyment of the boyish caper.
"Charlie MacGregor, you incorrigible imp!" she exclaimed, when she could
get her breath. "How did you ever dare to come here in this fashion?"
"Why not?" inquired Charlie. "You'd never have known me now, if this
miserable mustache had only stuck where it belonged. But, honestly, Miss
Lou, don't I make a fair actor?"
"Too good, Charlie," she answered, with a fresh laugh over the
unexpected ending to her flirtation. "Why haven't you ever told us you
could waltz so well, though?"
"I didn't suppose I could; it's so long since I've tried it. Besides,
none of the other fellows do, and I was afraid they'd think 'twas silly
for a boy," answered Charlie. "Allie started this scheme, and put on the
finishing touches. But didn't you really know me, Miss Lou?"
"Not a bit. Nobody would ever have suspected, if you hadn't been quite
so proud of your mustache, Mr. Atherden. By the way, where did you get
the name?"
"It's my middle one; didn't you know that?"
"No; but," she added hastily, "here comes somebody. Really, Charlie, you
don't want to spoil the joke by getting caught; you'd better go, now."
And she pushed him towards the door.
Five minutes later, she was offering to Mrs. Fisher the apologies of her
stranger guest, for the sudden business which had called him away so
abruptly. Then, after an inviting glance which promptly brought the
doctor to her side, she led the way to the "den," where she pledged him
to secrecy, and then told him the story of her recent companion.
"But there's one sure thing," Charlie said, with impenitent glee, as he
was bidding Allie goodnight; "for once in my life, I cut Dr. Brownlee
out with Miss Lou, and that's something to be proud of."