EXCESS BAGGAGE
Never was a young soldier so stumped by a problem in tactics as
Lieutenant Harry Mallory, safely aboard his train, and not daring to
leave it, yet hopelessly unaware of how he was to dispose of his
lovely but unlabelled baggage.
Hudson and Shaw had erected a white satin temple to Hymen in berth
number one, had created such commotion, and departed in such
confusion, that there had been no opportunity to proclaim that he and
Marjorie were "not married--just friends."
And now the passengers had accepted them as that enormous fund of
amusement to any train, a newly wedded pair. To explain the mistake
would have been difficult, even among friends. But among
strangers--well, perhaps a wiser and a colder brain than Harry
Mallory's could have stood there and delivered a brief oration
restoring truth to her pedestal. But Mallory was in no condition for
such a stoic delivery.
He mopped his brow in agony, lost in a blizzard of bewilderments. He
drifted back toward Marjorie, half to protect and half for
companionship. He found Mrs. Temple cuddling her close and mothering
her as if she were a baby instead of a bride.
"Did the poor child run away and get married?"
Marjorie's frantic "Boo-hoo-hoo" might have meant anything. Mrs.
Temple took it for assent, and murmured with glowing reminiscence:
"Just the way Doctor Temple and I did."
She could not see the leaping flash of wild hope that lighted up
Mallory's face. She only heard his voice across her shoulder:
"Doctor? Doctor Temple? Is your husband a reverend doctor?"
"A reverend doctor?" the little old lady repeated weakly.
"Yes--a--a preacher?"
The poor old congregation-weary soul was abruptly confronted with the
ruination of all the delight in her little escapade with her
pulpit-fagged husband. If she had ever dreamed that the girl who was
weeping in her arms was weeping from any other fright than the usual
fright of young brides, fresh from the preacher's benediction, she
would have cast every other consideration aside, and told the truth.
But her husband's last behest before he left her had been to keep
their precious pretend-secret. She felt--just then--that a woman's
first duty is to obey her husband. Besides, what business was it of
this young husband's what her old husband's business was? Before she
had fairly begun to debate her duty, almost automatically, with the
instantaneous instinct of self-protection, her lips had uttered the
denial:
"Oh--he's--just a--plain doctor. There he is now."
Mallory cast one miserable glance down the aisle at Dr. Temple coming
back from the smoking room. As the old man paused to stare at the
bridal berth, whose preparation he had not seen, he was just enough
befuddled by his first cigar for thirty years to look a trifle tipsy.
The motion of the train and the rakish tilt of his unwonted crimson
tie confirmed the suspicion and annihilated Mallory's new-born hope,
that perhaps repentant fate had dropped a parson at their very feet.
He sank into the seat opposite Marjorie, who gave him one terrified
glance, and burst into fresh sobs:
"Oh--oh--boo-hoo--I'm so unhap--hap--py."
Perhaps Mrs. Temple was a little miffed at the couple that had led her
astray and opened her own honeymoon with a wanton fib. In any case,
the best consolation she could offer Marjorie was a perfunctory pat,
and a cynicism:
"There, there, dear! You don't know what real unhappiness is yet. Wait
till you've been married a while."
And then she noted a startling lack of completeness in the bride's
hand.
"Why--my dear!--where's your wedding ring?"
With what he considered great presence of mind, Mallory explained:
"It--it slipped off--I--I picked it up. I have it here." And he took
the little gold band from his waistcoat and tried to jam it on
Marjorie's right thumb.
"Not on the thumb!" Mrs. Temple cried. "Don't you know?"
"You see, it's my first marriage."
"You poor boy--this finger!" And Mrs. Temple, raising Marjorie's limp
hand, selected the proper digit, and held it forward, while Mallory
pressed the fatal circlet home.
And then Mrs. Temple, having completed their installation as man and
wife, utterly confounded their confusion by her final effort at
comfort: "Well, my dears, I'll go back to my seat, and leave you alone
with your dear husband."
"My dear what?" Marjorie mumbled inanely, and began to sniffle again.
Whereupon Mrs. Temple resigned her to Mallory, and consigned her to
fate with a consoling platitude:
"Cheer up, my dear, you'll be all right in the morning."
Marjorie and Mallory's eyes met in one wild clash, and then both
stared into the window, and did not notice that the shades were down.