An exhaustive account of the causes leading up to my famous elopement
with the cash capital would lead us far afield. If the man from Kokomo
were here to cross-examine me, he would probably get it all out of me.
But he is not. I shall, therefore, make no attempt to gain credit for
the really noble and altruistic motives which animated me, and the
reader will have to make his own diagnosis. He will probably decide
that eight days of being called Fräulein and Mademoiselle had turned
my matronly head and produced an Indian-summer florescence of the
practical-joking age. Or he may explain my conduct as one of those
occasional eccentric outbursts in usually well-disciplined characters,
such as have been celebrated in a whole cycle of short stories of “The
Revolt of Mother” and “Wild Oats of a Spinster” type. It really doesn’t
matter. My shoulders are broad, and my reputation, I think, will stand
the strain. At all events, I hope so.
It happened that on the day following the Gornergrat trip we resolved
to take it easy. We slept late in the morning, had our lunch put up
for us at the hotel and wandered out with it in the direction of the
Staffel Alp, resolved not to go all the way unless we felt like it.
Now, we had been living a pretty strenuous life, and relaxing the
bent bow all at once was a little risky. We were in prime physical
condition, and the masculine half of the party, not having wholly
emerged from the colt stage, were distinctly feeling their oats.
I don’t wish to go into horrid details, but when it came time for
luncheon Belle Soeur and I found ourselves without any.
“I give you infants fair warning,” said I, “that if the bearer of the
common purse should be pushed too far, she might take her doll rags and
go home, and it might prove inconvenient.”
This threat referred to the fact that they had all given me their money
to take care of at the beginning of the trip, I being the one who made
the business arrangements and paid the bills and who was supposed to
be least likely to leave it all under a pillow. But Frater replied
jeeringly, “Oh, you can’t frighten me _that_ way! I’ve got eight francs
in my pocket!” And Antonio chimed in, “I’ve got six-fifty.”
“All right,” said I, “good-bye. Shall we go get some luncheon, Belle
Soeur?”
As soon as we were out of hearing on the path back to Zermatt, we began
to discuss what we should do. For one wild moment we considered the
expediency of just disappearing—taking a train and going off somewhere
and leaving the boys to settle the hotel bill with their fourteen
francs fifty as best they could. We soon decided that this would be
too low-down mean. So little by little we plotted the details of a
modified disappearance, including the fairy story which was supposed to
save our “face” and the boys’ at the hotel. We rushed in with an air
of great haste. Would they show us the time-table? Would they get our
bill ready? We had received word which made it necessary to curtail
our visit and go home immediately. We could not even wait for the two
gentlemen, who had gone on a long tramp and might not be back till
late. We would leave a note of explanation for them, and they would
doubtless take the first train. Yes, we would pay for _all_. It would
make it easier for them if they had _just_ time to catch a train. So
we hustled our belongings into our knapsacks, and I wrote a letter to
Frater saying we had decided to go to Leuk (on the hill) that evening
by rail, that they could rejoin us there on foot the next day if they
wished to, and that the second morning, if they had not appeared, we
would continue over the Gemmi Pass and home according to program. I
also mentioned that the hotel bill had been paid.
All this time we were momentarily expecting the arrival of the boys to
make their peace. But they did not come.
We took a belated lunch at the station buffet and had time to perfect
our plans a little further. We had all originally intended to walk from
Zermatt to Visp. It was an easy and pretty walk, and why should we give
it up? And what on earth could we do with ourselves for a whole day at
Leuk in that hot Rhone valley? But we had to get out of Zermatt. So we
bought our tickets to a little station called Randa, only six miles
away. And when we got there, having considerable daylight still on our
hands, walked five or six miles further to St. Niklaus.
We went to the Grand Hotel, which was not excessively grand, but
English curates and such like eminently respectable people were
boarding there. We felt that it would not just do for two lone females
to experiment in cheap lodgings.
The hotel did not quite rate clean napkins at each meal, so the curates
and their friends kept theirs from contamination by buttoning them up,
ring and all, in neat little embroidered shawl-strap covers. It was
beautifully in character, and we loved them for it. We were further
rejoiced by their signatures in the hotel register, especially that
of a very small, dapper, timid little clerical gentleman who in a
microscopic but superlatively correct hand described himself as a
“Clerk in Holy Orders.”
The excitement of our successful elopement had put us into the
highest spirits. We had enjoyed our walk greatly. And we had no
compunctions—ah, not the ghost of a one! But when, after the evening
meal was over, we had retired to our room in the Grand Hotel and
looked out on the darkening landscape, we began to wish we knew where
the boys were. We were tolerably sure they would be sleeping in the
open air that night. They would hardly waste any of their small hoard
on lodgings. It wouldn’t hurt them, of course. In fact, it would do
them good. But we wouldn’t greatly object, now that our dignity was
vindicated, to seeing those long-legged objects with knapsacks on backs
swing into view under our window. However, they didn’t. And we went to
bed and to sleep.
After an excellent breakfast next morning we started on our ten-mile
walk down the valley to Visp. We went along laughing and singing and
still enormously pleased with ourselves. We discussed from time to time
such questions as whether the pretty waitress had really given Frater
my letter, and whether the boys were now ahead of us or behind us on
the road. I was inclined to the former theory, but it all depended on
how soon after we left they had reached the Hotel du Trift. If they had
gotten there shortly after our departure, they would doubtless have
started immediately walking down the road to shorten the next day’s
tramp all they could, for it was about thirty-two miles from Zermatt to
Leuk on the hill. They should have spent the night in the vicinity of
Randa or even farther along. And people who sleep out of doors usually
do not sleep late in the morning. So doubtless they arose some two
hours earlier than we did and were very likely even now ahead of us. If
not, with their more rapid gait, they would soon catch up.
It was to meet this latter contingency that we decided it would be
a kind attention to leave bulletins along the road for them. I have
already alluded to our habit of putting notes of explanation for each
other in conspicuous places. I tore a leaf from my account book and
penciled on it “E. E. W. and M. F. W. passed this spot at 10:15 A. M.,
Aug. 10th, heading north, in excellent health.” Then folded it up and
put Frater’s and Antonio’s initials on the outside and pinned it to a
tree by the road.
After this we went along like Hop o’ My Thumb and his white pebbles,
leaving a bulletin every half hour. These were of various sorts. Some
gave little personal items about ourselves designed to allay any
anxiety they might be supposed to be feeling about us, such as “11:45
A. M., M. F. W. and E. E. W. have just had a light refection of fruit
and seltzer water and feel much refreshed.” Some were intended to
administer spiritual consolation to our young friends in case they
were feeling the pinch of any material want. Of this type was the text
“Blessed are they which hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they
shall be filled,” and “_Allah ya tik_.” This last is an Arabic phrase
which my husband and I had picked up in Egypt. It signifies, “God will
provide for you,” and you say it to beggars when you don’t want to give
them anything yourself. One bulletin was really practical and informed
them that M. F. W. and E. E. W. would lunch at the station buffet at
Visp and take the two o’clock train to Leuk Susten.
As we approached Visp, it grew hotter and hotter and hotter. We reached
the station about one o’clock and, choosing a little table on the
shady side of the platform, ordered the most cooling lunch we could
devise.
It was at this time that our hearts began to melt (no wonder in such a
temperature) and we got rather sorry for the abandoned boys. The heat
waves were fairly dancing out in the Rhone valley, and it made our
heads ache just to think of walking ten miles in that fiery furnace
to Leuk Susten. And we doubted their having the wherewithal to buy
railroad tickets.
We watched along the road, expecting them every minute to appear in
sight.
“Shall we wait for the four o’clock train,” suggested Belle Soeur, “so
we can take them along with us?”
“But suppose they are _ahead_ of us and are actually at this minute
staving down that dreadful Rhone valley? Supposing they get there
before we do and don’t find us? We _said_ we’d be there, and they would
have no way of understanding our change of program. They’d be boiled
and worn out and penniless and would think themselves abandoned for
sure.” So we took the train and went on.
The truthful Baedeker says it is only a mile from Leuk Susten, the
station, to old Leuk on the hill, but Belle Soeur and I agreed as we
toiled up the shadeless road in the middle of the hot afternoon that it
was quite the longest mile we had ever traversed. It was a picturesque
little old place when we got to it, with a ruined castle and just two
inns, very modest looking, and obligingly side by side.
We got a room and bespoke another for the gentlemen of our party when
they should arrive. We cooled ourselves off by dint of bathing and
clean collars, sallied out and had a look at the ruins of the castle,
then found a turn of the road that commanded all the lower windings
to the railroad station, including a long bridge across the river,
and sat ourselves down to watch. Every time we saw two specks of
humanity approaching we were sure it was our boys. We developed various
theories. Perhaps they had economized on eating so as to come by rail
from Visp. If so, that later train was just in, and they ought to be
appearing any minute. A carriage was seen winding up the road. “Perhaps
they are in it,” suggested Belle Soeur; “it would be just like their
enterprise to charter a carriage and have themselves delivered C. O.
D.”
But they weren’t in the carriage. And the various pedestrians whom we
had taken for them turned into peasants returning from work, women,
priests, or commercial travelers, on nearer approach.
Twilight was stealing over the Rhone valley, and a little wistful sense
of loneliness was stealing over _us_. It had been a fine game, this
eloping, but we had now reached the time scheduled for it to end in a
happy reunion—all hands around and everything forgiven.
We went back to the hotel and got them to set a little table for our
dinner on the balcony outside the dining-room. Of course it was cooler
and in every way pleasanter out there. And it also commanded the street.
Afterwards, we sat at our window and watched that street till bed-time,
though we kept up a pretense of talking. Belle Soeur says that I jumped
up out of bed in the middle of the night and ran to the window because
somebody was walking by on the stone pavement. _I_ say _she_ did it.
Perhaps both stories are true.