A FORECAST AT THE WHIPPLES'
There was a cup of tea at the Whipples' for any one that dropped in at
five o'clock. The general kept a syphon in the icebox, and his wife's
tea, which he loathed, gave him his excuse. He was fond of saying that
an exacting government made it impossible for an army officer to get
acquainted with his wife until after his retirement, and then, he
declared, there was nothing to discuss but the opportunities in life
which they had missed. They talked a great deal to each other about
their neighbors, and about their friends in the army whose lives they
were able to follow through the daily list of transfers in the
newspapers, and the ampler current history of the military establishment
in the Army and Navy Journal. Few men in Clarkson had time for the
general. He found the club an unsocial place, and he preferred his own
battered copies of "Pendennis" and "Henry Esmond" to anything in the
club library. Occasionally when Mrs. Whipple was out for luncheon he
went to the club for midday sustenance, but the other men who hurried
through their forty cents' worth of table d'hote, talked of matters that
were as alien to him as marine law. It would have suited the general
much better to live in Washington, where others with equally little to
do assembled in force; but his wife would not hear to it. She would not
have her husband, she said, becoming a professional pall bearer, and
this was the occupation of retired officers of the army and navy at the
capital. He submitted to her superior authority, as he always did, and
settled in Clarkson, where one could get much more for one's money than
in Washington.
The general usually remained in the Indian room at the tea hour,
particularly if he liked the talk of the women who appeared, or if they
were good to look at; otherwise he carried his syphon to the
dining-room, where there was a bottle of the same brand of rye whisky
which he kept back of "The Life of Peter the Great" in a book case in
the Indian room. He and Mrs. Whipple had gone to the opera without
Evelyn, and the general was now settling himself to his domestic
routine. He had dodged a woman whose prattle vexed him and whose call
had been prolonged, and having heard the door close upon her, he was
returning to his own preserve with the intention of getting some hot
water from Mrs. Whipple's tea kettle for use in compounding a punch,
when Bishop Delafield came in, bringing a great draft of cold air with
his huge figure. The bishop was a friend of many years' standing. His
sonorous voice filled the room and aided the fire in promoting
cheeriness. Mrs. Whipple brewed her tea, and the general made his
punch,--for two--for it was certainly snowing somewhere in the Diocese
of Clarkson, the bishop said, and he had established his joke with the
general that he might allow himself spirits in bad weather, as a
preventive of the rheumatism which he never had. The three made a cozy
picture as they grouped themselves about the bright hearth. They were
discussing the marriage of an old officer whom they all knew, a man of
Whipple's own age, who had just married a woman much his junior.
"It's easy for us all to philosophize adversely about such things," said
the general, sitting up straight in his camp chair. "I have a good deal
of sympathy with Bixby. He was lonely and his children were all married
and scattered to the four winds. I suppose there's nothing worse than
loneliness."
His wife frowned at him; their friend's long sorrow and his fidelity to
his memories appealed to all the romance in her.
"It's very different," Mrs. Whipple made haste to say, "where there are
children at home. Now there's Mr. Porter; he has Evelyn and Grant."
"But that probably won't last long," said the bishop. "Girls have a way
of leaving home."
"Well, there's nothing imminent?" asked Mrs. Whipple, anxiously.
"Oh, no! And girls that have been educated as she has been are likely to
choose warily, aren't they?"
"Nothing in it," said the general, stirring his glass. "They all go when
they get ready, without notice. Education doesn't change that."
"It strikes me that there aren't many eligible men here," said the
bishop. "To be explicit, just whom shall a girl like Evelyn Porter
marry?" He did not intend this for the general, who was refilling the
glasses, but the general refused to be ignored.
"It's my observation," he began, with an air of having much to impart,
if they would only let him alone, "that in every town the size of this
there are people who are predestined to marry. They fight it as hard as
they can, and dodge their destinies wherever possible; but it's a pretty
sure thing that ultimately they'll hit it off."
"That sounds like a sort of social presbyterianism to me," said the
bishop dryly, "and therefore heretical." He was really interested in
knowing what Mrs. Whipple knew or felt on this subject as it affected
Evelyn Porter. "Now you've been better trained, Mrs. Whipple," he said.
"Well, so far as Evelyn's concerned," she answered, knowing that this
was what the bishop wanted, "I'm not worrying about her. She's a
sensible girl and will take care of herself. I'm not half so much afraid
of destiny as of propinquity. We all know how the bachelor captain goes
down before the sister, or the in-law of some kind, of the colonel of
the regiment."
"That's not propinquity," said the general; "that's ordinary Christian
charity on the captain's part."
"Suppose," said the bishop slowly, "the commandant so to speak, is
really a banker, with a trusted officer, a kind of adjutant at his
elbow; and also a handsome daughter. Assume such a hypothetical case,
and what are you going to do about it?" He drained his glass and put it
down carefully.
"This looks like the appeal direct," answered Mrs. Whipple, laughing and
looking at her husband, who was meditating another punch and feeling for
the scent blindly.
"I don't know about that Mr. Wheaton," said Mrs. Whipple, meeting the
issue squarely. "He doesn't seem amusing to me, but then--I don't know
him!"
"Must one be amusing?" asked the bishop.
"Oh, I mean more than that!" exclaimed Mrs. Whipple. "Don't we always
mean intelligent when we say amusing?"
"Definitions certainly change. We are growing terribly exacting these
days. But," he added, serious again, "Wheaton's a success; he's pointed
to as one of Clarkson's rising men; one of the really self-made."
"Yes; I fancy he never knew Evelyn before the Knights of Midas ball;"
and she sighed, wondering whether she was culpable. She knew that the
bishop meant more than he had said and that this was a kind of warning
to her. She felt guilty, remembering the ball, and the appeal Evelyn had
made to her beforehand. A woman that has enjoyed a long career of
fancied infallibility experiences sorrow when she suddenly questions the
wisdom of her own judgments.
"What's the matter with Warry Raridan?" demanded the general. "He's got
to marry somebody some day; he and Evelyn would make a very proper
match. Wouldn't they?" he pleaded, when his wife and their visitor did
not respond promptly.
"Oh, Warry's well enough," the bishop answered. "But Warry's an
uncertain quantity. He's a fine, clean fellow, with all kinds of
possibilities; but--they're possibilities!"
"Warry's certainly bright enough," said General Whipple.
"His sense of humor is a trifle too keen for every-day use," said the
bishop.
"What's he been up to now?" asked the general.
The bishop laughed quietly to himself.
"It was this way. You know Warry's interest in church matters is
abnormal. The boy really knows a lot of theology for one who has never
studied it. He has, he says, a neat taste in bishops, whatever that
means--" the bishop chuckled softly,--"and whenever one of my brethren
visits me, Warry always lays himself out to give us what he calls a warm
little time. A few days ago I had a letter from the Patriarch of
Alexandria, whom I don't know, in which he set forth that Doctor Warrick
Raridan, of my diocese, had written him proposing a great reunion of
Christendom, based on the Coptic rite. As neither the Roman, the Greek,
nor the Anglican Church afforded a common meeting ground, owing to many
difficulties, the American gentleman had suggested that all might meet
at Alexandria. The Patriarch was delighted. Doctor Raridan had suggested
me as a reference, hence the venerable prelate wished to know my opinion
of the extent of the movement. I suppose Warry did that as a joke on me,
or to get the Patriarch's autograph, I don't know which. I haven't seen
Warry since, but I'm disposed to dust his jacket for him in a fatherly
way when I get hold of him. I don't know why the Patriarch should call
Warry 'Doctor.' He probably assumed that a man who could write as good a
letter as Warry is capable of must be a person of distinction."
"Warry's a gentleman, at any rate," said Mrs. Whipple.
"Which Wheaton isn't; is that the idea?" demanded the general; and then
added: "This Wheaton strikes me as being a wooden kind of fellow. He
acts as if he hadn't been used to things."
"Sh-h! be careful! That's no test of worth on the banks of the
Missouri," said his wife warningly.
"Do you mean to say that Evelyn Porter's chances have been fully
covered?" demanded the general. He liked gossip and hoped the subject
would prove more fruitful.
"There's Mr. Saxton," said his wife. "He seems altogether possible."
"He's the new man, isn't he? He always lifts his hat to me in the
street; an unusual attention in this ill-mannered age."
"Does _he_ act as if he had been used to things?" asked the bishop. He
was still seriously interested in canvassing Evelyn's case.
"He's very nice," Mrs. Whipple said; "but he's not desperately exciting,
as the girls say."
"But then!" The bishop lifted his hands with a despairing gesture, "must
young men be amusing or exciting in these days? Is he honest? Does he
lead a clean life? Has he, as the saying is, an outlook on life?"
"He isn't seeing much of Evelyn, I think," said Mrs. Whipple. "And he's
a great friend of Warry's. They may offset each other."
"Bless my soul!" exclaimed the general, "I don't see any use in worrying
over Evelyn Porter and her suitors. She'll have plenty of them. And when
she gets good and ready she'll up and marry one of them."
"No girl with at least three possibilities in one town, to say nothing
of dozens she may have elsewhere, need be a subject of commiseration,"
said Mrs. Whipple.
"But," began the bishop slowly, "it might be better to eliminate at
least one."
"Not Warry!" threw in Mrs. Whipple.
"Not Saxton," added the general. "I like him; he's polite and thoughtful
about us old folks."
The bishop had risen, knowing that the climax of a conversation is best
given standing.
"I shouldn't cut out either of them," he said, smiling.