THE THREE GIRLS AND THE THREE
TELEGRAMS
His uncle's words were in Rodney's ears for days afterwards. Was it
conceivable that he, to whom life was so sweet a thing, could under
any circumstances seek refuge in a suicide's grave? It was horrid that
his father should have been that sort of man; it was hard on him. His
mother ought to have told him; at least he would have been on his
guard. No wonder his uncle had been prejudiced against him; had his
mother not been so unkindly silent, he might--well, he might have
framed his conduct, so far as his uncle was concerned, on different
lines. How could he have guessed that his uncle was observing him with
almost unnatural keenness; while, all the time, he supposed him to be
purblind? It was a most unfortunate position for a young fellow to be
placed in; a word from his mother would have been of such assistance.
He was always reluctant to blame anyone; yet he could not but
feel that his parents had not used him well; with that moral
colour-blindness, which was one of his most striking characteristics,
he was already beginning to lump them together, though he knew
perfectly well, of his own knowledge, that, in all things, his mother
had been the soul of honour.
He was most awkwardly placed as regards his cousin; he had engagements
with her which he was aware she would resent his breaking; and her
father had even forbidden him to explain. Not that he could think of
any explanation which would meet the case from her point of view; she
was apt to be quick-tempered where he was concerned, and he was most
anxious to keep in with her; one never knew what might happen. He had
been cramming up the subject of apoplexy, both from books, and from
the lips of medical acquaintances; and he felt sure, from certain
little things he had noticed, that it was quite possible that his
uncle might have a stroke at any second; and, of course, if he did,
the situation would be entirely altered. But, at the same time, that
could not be counted on; and, in the meanwhile, there was Gladys both
to consider and conciliate. Still, he managed; his dexterity in such
matters was remarkable. He contrived that a communication should reach
his cousin to the effect that her father had forbidden him to meet
her, on pain of instant dismissal, and that, to save her from the
paternal anger, he had promised that he would not even write to her.
He counselled her, however, to be patient, expressing his conviction
that this state of things was not likely to continue, and that before
long they would be more than compensated for the brief period during
which they would be separated one from the other.
Then he went to his uncle in his room at the office, and telling him,
what was quite true, that Gladys had written asking for an explanation
of his sudden cessation of their intimacy, requested him, for
everybody's sake, since he had ordered him not to write to her, to
inform her himself of the prohibition he had laid upon his nephew.
This, grimly enough, Mr. Patterson undertook to do, and doubtless did.
And for more than a fortnight Rodney Elmore had quite a dull time.
Then a sequence of events came crowding on him so rapidly that within
a period of some eight-and-forty hours the whole course of his life
was changed.
The sequence began on a certain Saturday morning. Before he was yet
out of his bedroom he was informed that Mr. Austin had called; and,
indeed, the words were hardly spoken before Tom showed himself in.
Rodney was unfeignedly glad to see him. He had always liked Tom,
who was the antipodes of himself; a red-headed, freckle-faced,
simple-minded youth, who was not likely to set the Thames on fire, and
who, in fact, had no desires in that direction. He had "cut" college
for a few days, but had to hurry back by an early train; which
explained the matutinal hour he had chosen for a call. He brought news
that Stella was in town, staying with some people over Kensington way;
and suggested, as he rather thought that Stella found it dullish, that
he should look her up, if possible that very afternoon, and take her
somewhere. Rodney declared that he would be only too glad to have the
chance; he would get away early from the office, and go straight to
her, and would let her have a wire at once to let her know that he was
coming.
Then, when they adjourned to breakfast, a meal at which the visitor
expressed his readiness to assist, Tom volunteered the information
that he had been down to see Mary Carmichael, who was staying with an
aunt at Hove. She was quite well, was Mary, and, if anything, prettier
than ever; and he rather thought that, at last, he had fixed things up
with her. As he said this he flushed a red which was not at all the
same shade as his hair.
"You know," he observed, "how she's always refused to take me
seriously, and what a job I've had to get her to do it, and how she's
always ragged me, pretending that I was too young to know my own mind,
and all that sort of rot. Well, this time I rather fancy that I've
convinced her that I do know my own mind; and, what's more, I fancy
that I've found out what's in hers too. You know, she's always stuck
out that she'd have nothing to say to me about--you know what, till
I'd taken my degree. Of course, I ought to have taken the beastly
thing ages ago; there's no need for anyone to tell me that; but this
time I am going to do the trick--you see. Everyone will tell you that
I've been working like blazes, and even my tutor has hopes. Mary as
good as told me last night that if I once got the thing the banns
could go up inside three months--honestly, she did. Of course, she was
only laughing; you know how she does laugh at a fellow; but I believe
she meant it, all the same. I say, this ham of yours is top hole; I'll
have another whack."
While Tom helped himself to the other "whack," his friend said with a
sigh:
"You're a lucky beggar to be able to think of marriage at your time of
life."
"Don't I know it? For that I've got the pater to thank; he's been
making more piles. All he really wants is that I should settle down;
nothing would please him better than to see me married; he'd be almost
as glad as I should to have Mary as a member of the family. Isn't it
queer that while I've liked Mary all her life I've liked her more and
more as time went on, until--well, if I do get her I shall have got
all I want."
"Then, with all my heart, I hope you get her."
"I've decided hopes, old man--decided. I say, you know, Stella's not a
bad sort, although I am her brother."
"Do you think that I don't know it?"
"You're the best pal I have in the world, and--I don't think she
objects to you."
"Tom, dear old chap, don't say another word--please. I'm never going
to ask a girl to marry me until I'm in a position to keep her as my
wife should be kept."
"That's sound enough in a general way; but as regards this particular
case it's all tuppence. Stella has money, and the pater, if properly
worked, would supply more; I happen to know that he's quite willing
she should marry anyone she likes, so long as it's a decent chap--and
he knows you're that. Why, if it comes to that, he could slip you, as
easy as winking, into a much better berth than the one you have at
your uncle's."
"Tom, I know you're the best chum a man ever had, and one day I'm
going to prove it. I haven't your happy knack of baring my heart, even
to myself; I'm a more secretive kind of brute; but, like you, I have
my dreams, and before very long I hope to have good news for you. But
now, please, don't say anything more about it."
And Tom said nothing; he changed the subject to Oxford gossip,
chattering away light-heartedly while Rodney glanced at the letters
which the morning post had brought. Among them was one in a bold,
slashing hand, which he knew well.
"90, Russell Square.
"Friday.
"DEAR OLD BOY,--The dad's gone off weekending without notice, and I
never found out what he was going to do till it was too late to get at
you, or I would have got; so here am I in this great mausoleum of a
house all on my lonesome. To-morrow, early, I've an engagement with
Cissie Henderson, but in the evening--and no nonsense, sir!--you'll
have to dine me in some quiet place, where there are no prying eyes;
and afterwards you can amuse me as you like. No excuse will be
accepted; I want to spend to-morrow evening in your society, and I'm
going to--and the dad can go hang! So mind you send me a wire directly
you get this to let me know where I'm to meet you--at seven, sir!--and
don't let there be any mistake about it. Until we do meet,
"Yours, G."
As he read this characteristic note of an up-to-date young woman a
chord was touched somewhere in Rodney's being which made him conscious
of a pleasant little thrill. Even while Austin chattered he was
telling himself that he also would let the lady's "dad go hang," and
that she should spend the evening in his society, be the consequences
what they might.
When the visitor departed it was understood that Rodney would send a
wire on his way to the office to let Stella know at what time she
might expect him. Scarcely had Austin left the house than there came a
telegram for Elmore. He opened it, supposing it to be from the
impatient lady in Russell Square; but he was wrong. The message ran:
"Do come down to-morrow and cheer me up. Aunt is going out. I shall be
alone. I have had Tom as companion for three whole days, so am in need
of a tonic. Wire train. Be sure and come.
"MARY."
Mary? For a moment he wondered who Mary was. Then he saw that the
message had been handed in at a Brighton post-office, and he
understood. Mary? Mary was Mary Carmichael. At the thought of her his
eyes sparkled and his spirits rose. After a fashion Mary Carmichael
was the feminine creature in all the world that he liked best. Not
only was she pretty, and dainty, and bright, and smart and clever, but
just as Gladys Patterson appealed to him in one direction so Mary
Carmichael did in another. Her telegram suggested what that direction
was; in a way they were birds of a feather. Tom Austin had been her
life-long admirer, slave, her avowed wooer; quite probably one day she
would become his wife; yet she was not averse to being "cheered up" by
his bosom friend, after confessing, by telegram, that she had been
bored by three days of his society. Rodney chuckled at the thought of
it; the thing seemed to him to be so amusing. Just now Tom had been
telling him, with boyish candour, in single-hearted confidence in his
integrity, that he had come away from Brighton under the impression
that he was shortly to be made the happiest of men; and here was the
girl who was to make him happy so anxious for an antidote to his
society, begging him to do what Tom clearly had not done--cheer her
up--and adding, as a peculiar inducement, that she would be alone.
Poor old Tom! what a fool he was--and what a little minx was pretty
Miss Mary!
On his way to the office Rodney sent three telegrams. One to Stella
Austin, at Kensington, to say that he would be with her as near to two
o'clock as possible, and that he hoped she would come out with him;
one to Gladys Patterson, in Russell Square, asking her to meet him at
a restaurant in Jermyn Street at seven sharp; one to Mary Carmichael,
at Hove, informing her that he would arrive in Brighton to-morrow
morning by the train due at noon. It was a female clerk to whom he
handed these three messages; when she had scanned them she glanced up
at him, as he felt, with a species of curiosity; he had a suspicion
that she smiled.