MR. BRADSHAW CALLS ON MISS BADLAM.
"Is Miss Hazard in, Kitty?"
"Indade she 's in, Mr. Bridshaw, but she won't see nobody."
"What 's the meaning of that, Kitty? Here is the third time within three
days you 've told me I could n't see her. She saw Mr. Gridley yesterday, I
know; why won't she see me to-day?"
"Y' must ask Miss Myrtle what the rason is,--it 's none o' my business, Mr.
Bridshaw. That 's the order she give me."
"Is Miss Badlam in?"
"Indade she 's in, Mr. Bridshaw, an' I 'll go cahl her."
"Bedad," said Kitty Fagan to herself, "the cat an' the fox is goin' to
have another o' thim big tahks togither, an' sure the old hole for the
stove-pipe has niver been stopped up yet."
Mr. Bradshaw and Miss Cynthia went into the parlor together, and Mistress
Kitty retired to her kitchen. There was a deep closet belonging to this
apartment, separated by a partition from the parlor. There was a round hole
high up in this partition through which a stove-pipe had once passed.
Mistress Kitty placed a stool just under this opening, upon which, as on a
pedestal, she posed herself with great precaution in the attitude of the
goddess of other people's secrets, that is to say, with her head a little
on one side, so as to bring her liveliest ear close to the opening. The
conversation which took place in the hearing of the invisible third party
began in a singularly free-and-easy manner on Mr. Bradshaw's part.
"What the d is the reason I can't see Myrtle, Cynthia?"
"That's more than I can tell you, Mr. Bradshaw. I can watch her goings on,
but I can't account for her tantrums."
"You say she has had some of her old nervous whims,--has the doctor been to
see her?"
"No indeed. She has kept to herself a good deal, but I don't think there's
anything in particular the matter with her. She looks well enough, only she
seems a little queer,--as girls do that have taken a fancy into their heads
that they 're in love, you know,--absent-minded,--does n't seem to be
interested in things as you would expect after being away so long."
Mr. Bradshaw looked as if this did not please him particularly. If he was
the object of her thoughts she would not avoid him, surely.
"Have you kept your eye on her steadily?"
"I don't believe there is an hour we can't account for,--Kitty and I
between us."
"Are you sure you can depend on Kitty?"
["Depind on Kitty, is it? O, an' to be sure ye can depind on Kitty to kape
watch at the stove-pipe hole, an' to tell all y'r plottin's an' contrivin's
to them that 'll get the cheese out o' y'r mousetrap for ye before ye catch
any poor cratur in it." This was the inaudible comment of the unseen third
party.]
"Of course I can depend on her as far as I trust her. All she knows is that
she must look out for the girl to see that she does not run away or do
herself a mischief. The Biddies don't know much, but they know enough to
keep a watch on the--"
"Chickens." Mr. Bradshaw playfully finished the sentence for Miss Cynthia.
["An' on the foxes, an' the cats, an' the wazels, and the hen-hahks, an'
ahl the other bastes," added the invisible witness, in unheard soliloquy.]
"I ain't sure whether she's quite as stupid as she looks," said the
suspicious young lawyer. "There's a little cunning twinkle in her eye
sometimes that makes me think she might be up to a trick on occasion. Does
she ever listen about to hear what people are saying?"
"Don't trouble yourself about Kitty Fagan, for pity's sake, Mr. Bradshaw.
The Biddies are all alike, and they 're all as stupid as owls, except when
you tell 'em just what to do, and how to do it. A pack of priest-ridden
fools!"
The hot Celtic blood in Kitty Fagan's heart gave a leap. The stout muscles
gave an involuntary jerk. The substantial frame felt the thrill all
through, and the rickety stool on which she was standing creaked sharply
under its burden.
Murray Bradshaw started. He got up and opened softly all the doors leading
from the room, one after another, and looked out.
"I thought I heard a noise as if somebody was moving, Cynthia. It's just as
well to keep our own matters to ourselves."
"If you wait till this old house keeps still, Mr. Bradshaw, you might as
well wait till the river has run by. It's as full of rats and mice as an
old cheese is of mites. There's a hundred old rats in this house, and
that's what you hear."
["An' one old cat; that's what _I_ hear." Third party.]
"I told you, Cynthia, I must be off on this business to-morrow. I want to
know that everything is safe before I go. And, besides, I have got
something to say to you that's important,--very important, mind you."
He got up once more and opened every door softly and looked out. He fixed
his eye suspiciously on a large sofa at the other side of the room, and
went, looking half ashamed of his extreme precaution, and peeped under it,
to see if there was any one hidden there to listen. Then he came back and
drew his chair close up to the table at which Miss Badlam had seated
herself. The conversation which followed was in a low tone, and a portion
of it must be given in another place in the words of the third party. The
beginning of it we are able to supply in this connection.
"Look here, Cynthia; you know what I am going for. It's all right, I feel
sure, for I have had private means of finding out. It's a sure thing; but I
must go once more to see that the other fellows don't try any trick on us.
You understand what is for my advantage is for yours, and, if I go wrong,
you go overboard with me. Now I must leave the--you know--behind me. I
can't leave it in the house or the office: they might burn up. I won't have
it about me when I am travelling. Draw your chair a little more this way.
Now listen."
["Indade I will," said the third party to herself. The reader will find out
in due time whether she listened to any purpose or not.]
* * * * *
In the mean time Myrtle, who for some reason was rather nervous and
restless, had found a pair of half-finished slippers which she had left
behind her. The color came into her cheeks when she remembered the state of
mind she was in when she was working on them for the Rev. Mr. Stoker. She
recollected Master Gridley's mistake about their destination, and
determined to follow the hint he had given. It would please him better if
she sent them to good Father Pemberton, she felt sure, than if he should
get them himself. So she enlarged them somewhat, (for the old man did not
pinch his feet, as the younger clergyman was in the habit of doing, and
was, besides, of portly dimensions, as the old orthodox three-deckers were
apt to be,) and worked E. P. very handsomely into the pattern, and sent
them to him with her love and respect, to his great delight; for old
ministers do not have quite so many tokens of affection from fair hands as
younger ones.
What made Myrtle nervous and restless? Why had she quitted the city so
abruptly, and fled to her old home, leaving all the gayeties behind her
which had so attracted and dazzled her?
She had not betrayed herself at the third meeting with the young man who
stood in such an extraordinary relation to her,--who had actually given her
life from his own breath,--as when she met him for the second time. Whether
his introduction to her at the party, just at the instant when Murray
Bradshaw was about to make a declaration, saved her from being in another
moment the promised bride of that young gentleman, or not, we will not be
so rash as to say. It looked, certainly, as if he was in a fair way to
carry his point; but perhaps she would have hesitated, or shrunk back, when
the great question came to stare her in the face.
She was excited, at any rate, by the conversation, so that, when Clement
was presented to her, her thoughts could not at once be all called away
from her other admirer, and she was saved from all danger of that sudden
disturbance which had followed their second meeting. Whatever impression he
made upon her developed itself gradually,--still, she felt strangely drawn
towards him. It was not simply in his good looks, in his good manners, in
his conversation, that she found this attraction, but there was a singular
fascination which she felt might be dangerous to her peace, without
explaining it to herself in words. She could hardly be in love with this
young artist; she knew that his affections were plighted to another,--a
fact which keeps most young women from indulging unruly fancies; yet her
mind was possessed by his image to such an extent that it left little room
for that of Mr. William Murray Bradshaw.
Myrtle Hazard had been just ready to enter on a career of worldly vanity
and ambition. It is hard to blame her, for we know how she came by the
tendency. She had every quality, too, which fitted her to shine in the gay
world; and the general law is, that those who have the power have the
instinct to use it. We do not suppose that the bracelet on her arm was an
amulet, but it was a symbol. It reminded her of her descent; it kept alive
the desire to live over the joys and excitements of a bygone generation. If
she had accepted Murray Bradshaw, she would have pledged herself to a
worldly life. If she had refused him, it would perhaps have given her a
taste of power that might have turned her into a coquette. This new
impression saved her for the time. She had come back to her nest in the
village like a frightened bird; her heart was throbbing, her nerves were
thrilling, her dreams were agitated; she wanted to be quiet, and could not
listen to the flatteries or entreaties of her old lover.
It was a strong will and a subtle intellect that had arrayed their force
and skill against the ill-defended citadel of Myrtle's heart. Murray
Bradshaw was perfectly determined, and not to be kept back by any trivial
hindrances, such as her present unwillingness to accept him, or even her
repugnance to him, if a freak of the moment had carried her so far. It was
a settled thing: Myrtle Hazard must become Mrs. Bradshaw; and nobody could
deny that, if he gave her his name, they had a chance, at least, for a
brilliant future.