BEGINNINGS.
How far Watts was confining himself to facts in the foregoing dialogue
is of no concern, for the only point of value was that Peter was
invited, without regard to whether Watts first asked Mr. Pierce, or Mr.
Pierce first asked Watts. A letter which the latter wrote to Miss
Pierce, as soon as it was settled that Peter should go, is of more
importance, and deserves quotation in full:
JUNE 7TH.
MY DEAR HELEN—
Between your Pater and my Peter, it has taken an amount of diplomacy to
achieve the scheme we planned last summer, which would be creditable to
Palmerston at his palmiest and have made Bismarck even more marked than
he is. But the deed, the mighty deed is done, and June twenty-ninth
will see chum and me at the Shrubberies “if it kills every cow in the
barn,” which is merely another way of saying that in the bright lexicon
of youth, there’s no such word as fail.
Now a word as to the fellow you are so anxious to meet. I have talked
to you so much about him, that you will probably laugh at my attempting
to tell you anything new. I’m not going to try, and you are to consider
all I say as merely a sort of underlining to what you already know.
Please remember that he will never take a prize for his beauty—nor even
for his grace. He has a pleasing way with girls, not only of not
talking himself, but of making it nearly impossible for them to talk.
For instance, if a girl asks me if I play croquet, which by the way, is
becoming very _passé_ (three last lines verge on poetry) being replaced
by a new game called tennis, I probably say, “No. Do you?” In this way
I make croquet good for a ten minutes’ chat, which in the end leads up
to some other subject. Peter, however, doesn’t. He says “No,” and so
the girl can’t go on with croquet, but must begin a new subject. It is
safest to take the subject-headings from an encyclopædia, and introduce
them in alphabetical order. Allow about ninety to the hour, unless you
are brave enough to bear an occasional silence. If you are, you can
reduce this number considerably, and chum doesn’t mind a pause in the
least, if the girl will only look contented. If she looks worried,
however, Peter gets worried, too. Just put the old chap between you and
your mamma at meals, and pull him over any rough spots that come along.
You, I know, will be able to make it easy for him. Neglect me to any
extent. I shan’t be jealous, and shall use that apparent neglect as an
excuse for staying on for a week after he goes, so as to have my
innings. I want the dear old blunderbuss to see how nice a really nice
girl can be, so do your prettiest to him, for the sake of
WATTS CLARKSON D’ALLOI.
When Watts and Peter saved the “cows in the barn” by stepping off the
train on June 29th, the effect of this letter was manifest. Watts was
promptly bestowed on the front seat of the trap with Mr. Pierce, while
Peter was quickly sitting beside a girl on the back seat. Of course an
introduction had been made, but Peter had acquired a habit of not
looking at girls, and as a consequence had yet to discover how far Miss
Pierce came up to the pleasant word-sketch Watts had drawn of her.
Indeed, Peter had looked longingly at the seat beside Mr. Pierce, and
had attempted, in a very obvious manner, though one which seemed to him
the essence of tact and most un-apparent, to have it assigned to him.
But two people, far his superior in natural finesse and experience, had
decided beforehand that he was to sit with Helen, and he could not
resist their skilful manoeuvres. So he climbed into place, hoping that
she wouldn’t talk, or if that was too much to expect, that at least
Watts would half turn and help him through.
Neither of these fitted, however, with Miss Pierce’s plans. She gave
Peter a moment to fit comfortably into his seat, knowing that if she
forced the running before he had done that, he would probably sit awry
for the whole drive. Then: “I can’t tell you how pleased we all are
over Watts’s success. We knew, of course, he could do it if he cared
to, but he seemed to think the attempt hardly worth the making, and so
we did not know if he would try.”
Peter breathed more easily. She had not asked a question, and the
intonation of the last sentence was such as left him to infer that it
was not his turn to say something; which, Peter had noticed, was the
way in which girls generally ended their remarks.
“Oh, look at that absurd looking cow,” was her next remark, made before
Peter had begun to worry over the pause.
Peter looked at the cow and laughed. He would like to have laughed
longer, for that would have used up time, but the moment he thought the
laugh could be employed in place of conversation, the laugh failed.
However, to be told to look at a cow required no rejoinder, so there
was as yet no cause for anxiety.
“We are very proud of our roads about here,” said Miss Pierce. “When we
first bought they were very bad, but papa took the matter in hand and
got them to build with a rock foundation, as they do in Europe.”
Three subjects had been touched upon, and no answer or remark yet
forced upon him. Peter thought of _rouge et noir_, and wondered what
the odds were that he would be forced to say something by Miss Pierce’s
next speech.
“I like the New England roadside,” continued Miss Pierce, with an
apparent relativeness to the last subject that delighted Peter, who was
used by this time to much disconnection of conversation, and found not
a little difficulty in shifting quickly from one topic to another.
“There is a tangled finish about it that is very pleasant. And in
August, when the golden-rod comes, I think it is glorious. It seems to
me as if all the hot sunbeams of the summer had been gathered up
in—excuse the expression—it’s a word of Watts’s—into ‘gobs’ of
sunshine, and scattered along the roads and fields.”
Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for a response, but
concluded that it didn’t.
“Papa told me the other day,” continued Miss Pierce, “that there were
nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod. I had never noticed that
there were any differences.”
Peter began to feel easy and comfortable. He made a mental note that
Miss Pierce had a very sweet voice. It had never occurred to Peter
before to notice if a girl had a pleasant voice. Now he distinctly
remembered that several to whom he had talked—or rather who had talked
to him—had not possessed that attraction.
“Last year,” said Miss Pierce, “when Watts was here, we had a
golden-rod party. We had the whole house decked with it, and yellow
lamps on the lawn.”
“He told me about it,” said Peter.
“He really was the soul of it,” said Miss Pierce, “He wove himself a
belt and chaplet of it and wore it all through the evening. He was so
good-looking!”
Peter, quite unconscious that he had said anything, actually continued:
“He was voted the handsomest man of the class.”
“Was he really? How nice!” said Miss Pierce.
“Yes,” said Peter. “And it was true.” Peter failed to notice that a
question had been asked, or that he had answered it. He began to think
that he would like to look at Miss Pierce for a moment. Miss Pierce,
during this interval, remarked to herself: “Yes. That was the right
way, Helen, my dear.”
“We had quite a houseful for our party,” Miss Pierce remarked, after
this self-approval. “And that reminds me that I must tell you about
whom you meet to-day.” Then the next ten minutes were consumed in
naming and describing the two fashionable New York girls and their
brother, who made the party then assembled.
During this time Peter’s eyes strayed from Watts’s shapely back, and
took a furtive glance at Miss Pierce. He found that she was looking at
him as she talked, but for some reason it did not alarm him, as such
observation usually did. Before the guests were properly catalogued,
Peter was looking into her eyes as she rambled on, and forgot that he
was doing so.
The face that he saw was not one of any great beauty, but it was sweet,
and had a most attractive way of showing every change of mood or
thought. It responded quickly too, to outside influence. Many a girl of
more real beauty was less popular. People liked to talk to Miss Pierce,
and many could not escape from saying more than they wished, impelled
thereto by her ready sympathy. Then her eyes were really beautiful, and
she had the trimmest, dearest little figure in the world; “squeezable”
was the word Watts used to describe it, and most men thought the same.
Finally, she had a pleasant way of looking into people’s eyes as she
talked to them, and for some reason people felt very well satisfied
when she did.
It had this effect upon Peter. As he looked down into the large gray
eyes, really slate-color in their natural darkness, made the darker by
the shadows of the long lashes, he entirely forgot place and
circumstances; ceased to think whose turn it was to speak; even forgot
to think whether he was enjoying the moment. In short he forgot himself
and, what was equally important, forgot that he was talking to a girl.
He felt and behaved as he did with men. “Moly hoses!” said Watts to
himself on the front seat, “the old fellow’s getting loquacious.
Garrulity must be contagious, and he’s caught it from Mr. Pierce.”
Which, being reduced to actual facts, means that Peter had spoken eight
times, and laughed twice, in the half hour that was passed between the
station and the Shrubberies’ gate.