It was on Sunday when I awoke to the realization that I had quitted
civilization and was afloat on an unfamiliar body of water in an open
boat containing--
One light steel cage,
One rifle and ammunition,
One stenographer,
Three ounces rosium oxide,
One hound-dog,
Two valises.
A playful wave slopped over the bow and I lost count; but the pretty
stenographer made the inventory, while I resumed the oars, and the dog
punctured the primeval silence with staccato yelps.
A few minutes later everything and everybody was accounted for; the
sky was blue and the palms waved, and several species of dicky-birds
tuned up as I pulled with powerful strokes out into the sunny waters
of Little Sprite Lake, now within a few miles of my journey's end.
From ponds hidden in the marshes herons rose in lazily laborious
flight, flapping low across the water; high in the cypress yellow-eyed
ospreys bent crested heads to watch our progress; sun-baked
alligators, lying heavily in the shoreward sedge, slid open, glassy
eyes as we passed.
"Even the 'gators make eyes at you," I said, resting on my oars.
We were on terms of badinage.
"Who was it who shed crocodile tears at the prospect of shipping me
North?" she inquired.
"Speaking of tears," I observed, "somebody is likely to shed a number
when Professor Farrago is picked up."
"Pooh!" she said, and snapped her pretty, sun-tanned fingers; and I
resumed the oars in time to avoid shipwreck on a large mud-bar.
She reclined in the stern, serenely occupied with the view, now and
then caressing the discouraged dog, now and then patting her hair
where the wind had loosened a bright strand.
"If Professor Farrago didn't expect a woman stenographer," she said,
abruptly, "why did he instruct you to bring a complete outfit of
woman's clothing?"
"I don't know," I said, tartly.
"But you bought them. Are they for a young woman or an old woman?"
"I don't know; I sent a messenger to a department store. I don't know
what he bought."
"Didn't you look them over?"
"No. Why? I should have been no wiser. I fancy they're all right,
because the bill was eighteen hundred dollars--"
The pretty stenographer sat up abruptly.
"Is that much?" I asked, uneasily. "I've always heard women's clothing
was expensive. Wasn't it enough? I told the boy to order the
best;--Professor Farrago always requires the very best scientific
instruments, and--I listed the clothes as scientific accessories--that
being the object of this expedition--_What_ are you laughing at?"
When it pleased her to recover her gravity she announced her desire to
inspect and repack the clothing; but I refused.
"They're for Professor Farrago," I said. "I don't know what he wants
of them. I don't suppose he intends to wear 'em and caper about the
jungle, but they're his. I got them because he told me to. I bought a
cage, too, to fit myself, but I don't suppose he means to put me in
it. Perhaps," I added, "he may invite you into it."
"Let me refold the gowns," she pleaded, persuasively. "What does a
clumsy man know about packing such clothing as that? If you don't,
they'll be ruined. It's a shame to drag those boxes about through mud
and water!"
So we made a landing, and lifted out and unlocked the boxes. All I
could see inside were mounds of lace and ribbons, and with a vague
idea that Miss Barrison needed no assistance I returned to the boat
and sat down to smoke until she was ready.
When she summoned me her face was flushed and her eyes bright.
"Those are certainly the most beautiful things!" she said, softly.
"Why, it is like a bride's trousseau--absolutely complete--all except
the bridal gown--"
"Isn't there a dress there?" I exclaimed, in alarm.
"No--not a day-dress."
"Night-dresses!" I shrieked. "He doesn't want women's night-dresses!
He's a bachelor! Good Heavens! I've done it this time!"
"But--but who is to wear them?" she asked.
"How do I know? I don't know anything; I can only presume that he
doesn't intend to open a department store in the Everglades. And if
any lady is to wear garments in his vicinity, I assume that those
garments are to be anything except diaphanous!... Please take your
seat in the boat, Miss Barrison. I want to row and think."
I had had my fill of exercise and thought when, about four o'clock in
the afternoon, Miss Barrison directed my attention to a point of palms
jutting out into the water about a mile to the southward.
"That's Farrago!" I exclaimed, catching sight of a United States flag
floating majestically from a bamboo-pole. "Give me the megaphone, if
you please."
She handed me the instrument; I hailed the shore; and presently a man
appeared under the palms at the water's edge.
"Hello!" I roared, trying to inject cheerfulness into the hollow
bellow. "How are you, professor?"
The answer came distinctly across the water:
"_Who_ is that with you?"
My lips were buried in the megaphone; I strove to speak; I only
produced a ghastly, chuckling sound.
"Of course you expect to tell the truth," observed the pretty
stenographer, quietly.
I removed my lips from the megaphone and looked around at her. She
returned my gaze with a disturbing smile.
"I want to mitigate the blow," I said, hoarsely. "Tell me how."
"I'm sure I don't know," she said, sweetly.
"Well, _I_ do!" I fairly barked, and seizing the megaphone again, I
set it to my lips and roared, "My fiancée!"
"Good gracious!" exclaimed Miss Barrison, in consternation, "I thought
you were going to tell the truth!"
"Don't do that or you'll upset us," I snapped--"I'm telling the truth;
I've engaged myself to you; I did it mentally before I bellowed."
"But--"
"You know as well as I do what engagements mean," I said, picking up
the oars and digging them deep in the blue water.
She assented uncertainly.
A few minutes more of vigorous rowing brought us to a muddy landing
under a cluster of tall palmettos, where a gasoline launch lay.
Professor Farrago came down to the shore as I landed, and I walked
ahead to meet him. He was the maddest man I ever saw. But I was his
match, for I was desperate.
"What the devil--" he began, under his breath.
"Nonsense!" I said, deliberately. "An engaged woman is practically
married already, because marriages are made in heaven."
"Good Lord!" he gasped, "are you mad, Gilland? I sent for a
stenographer--"
"Miss Barrison is a stenographer," I said, calmly; and before he could
recover I had presented him, and left them face to face, washing my
hands of the whole affair.
Unloading the boat and carrying the luggage up under the palms, I
heard her saying:
"No, I am not in the least afraid of snakes, and I am quite ready to
begin my duties."
And he: "Mr. Gilland is a young man who--er--lacks practical
experience."
And she: "Mr. Gilland has been most thoughtful for my comfort. The
journey has been perfectly heavenly."
And he, clumsily: "Ahem!--the--er--celestial aspect of your journey
has--er--doubtless been colored by--er--the prospect of
your--er--approaching nuptials--"