FORTUNE, THAT FICKLE GODDESS, FAVORS STANDISH.
"Her winsome, witching eyes
Flash like bits of summer skies
O'er her fan,
As if to say, 'We've met;
You may go now and forget--
If you can.'"
SAMUEL M. PECK.
It was a great relief to Geraldine when Harry Hawthorne arrived with
a cab to take her to the boat. Now at last she could escape her angry
lover.
He rose, indeed, to take leave of the family, but he said to her:
"I shall see you again, Miss Harding. I go back to New York on the same
boat."
He did so, but he did not judge it prudent to incur the wrath of
Hawthorne by too persistent attentions. He preserved a coolly courteous
demeanor toward both, devoting himself to some other friends whom he
met on the boat.
But, toward the last, he approached Geraldine again, murmuring,
pleadingly:
"I should like to call on you this evening, if you will permit me."
She blushed, and stammered:
"Please excuse me, as I have another engagement."
He saw her timid glance turn toward Hawthorne, and readily guessed that
she had made an engagement with him.
Stifling an execration between closely drawn lips, he muttered:
"To-morrow evening, then?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," she answered, but with an air of restraint that
made him furious.
"She would like to refuse if she dared, the little flirt," he thought,
and when Geraldine and Hawthorne left the boat together, he looked
after them pale with rage.
At that moment Cameron Clemens, one of the actor-friends he had met on
the boat, slapped him on the shoulder, and said, teasingly:
"Hallo, Standish! that was a stunning little beauty! But what are you
glowering at, man? Jealous, eh?"
"Jealous of a beggarly fireman? Bah, no! The little coquette will throw
him over to-morrow."
"And pick you up again, eh? Consolatory, by Jove! But who is she,
anyhow?"
"Oh, nobody but a salesgirl from O'Neill's. She scraped acquaintance
with me in the store some ten days ago, and has been begging me to get
her in my company ever since. You know how the pretty girls always run
after actors, Clemens."
"And how ardently the actors encourage their attentions; oh, yes,"
smiled the other, who was a very handsome young fellow himself. He
added, after a moment: "Is the girl stage-struck?"
"Yes, decidedly--member of an amateur dramatic society, and all that,
you know. Wild to go on the stage, and I intend to get her in our
company, just before we go on the road next week."
"But there's no vacancy."
"I'll get that little soubrette turned off. I owe her a grudge anyhow.
She slapped my face when I tried to kiss her in a dark corridor one
night."
"Oh, don't take revenge for that. She's a good little girl, that
Bettie," said Cameron Clemens, who, although he was the villain in the
play where Standish had the part of hero, was kind and generous at
heart.
But Clifford Standish could not be brought to relent.
"She can get another place," he said, carelessly. "The manager can't
afford to displease me. I'm drawing full houses every night. So out
goes prudish Bettie, and in comes pretty Geraldine!"
"You don't think you can kiss her in a dark corridor, do you?"
"I shall kiss her when I please. In fact, I intend to marry the little
beauty; so no attentions in that quarter, my friend."
"All right. I'll keep off the grass," returned the young actor,
slangily, and turning to his friend, Charlie Butler, they went away
together, leaving Standish to some bitter reflections, for his bravado
was all put on. He feared that Geraldine was lost to him forever.
"He will be with her this evening, that villainous fireman, while I am
plodding away on the stage," he thought, angrily.
But a most untoward fate helped him on when he feared that the game
was lost to him forever--helped him on, and blighted all the springing
hopes of poor Harry Hawthorne.
A morbid curiosity over his rival led him to stroll down on Ludlow
street that afternoon, in the neighborhood of the engine-house, and
he saw the horses dashing out attached to the engine, and the hated
Hawthorne on the driver's seat, handling the reins with consummate
skill, his handsome face aglow with excitement. An alarm of fire had
come in, and he was hastening to the scene.
Clifford Standish hated his manly rival more than ever at this moment,
but he impulsively joined the crowd that was running after the engine,
intent on seeing the fire.
On went the engine in splendid style, the horses obeying Hawthorne's
hand lovingly, their sleek sides shining, their manes streaming,
their fine heads erect, their large eyes flashing, a sight to win the
admiration of every gazer. Flying like the wind, their hoofs striking
fire from the pavement, they turned the corner, and---- Alas! what was
that shriek that went up from hundreds of throats?
Their splendid onset was defeated. In turning the corner the wheels
struck a car track at an angle, and the engine was overturned, the
gallant steeds struggling in the dust with their noble driver.
Clifford Standish rushed forward with demoniac glee, muttering:
"My rival is dead beneath the engine! I am free of him forever!"