ALFRED COLLECTS A DEBT
Alfred Morgan is one of those men whose backbone is built out of
seasoned hickory.
I wish some of the poets would start the fashion of writing epics
about the hero who goes through college without getting any money from
home. To me he seems vastly greater than he who taketh a city.
Alfred did this, selling his pretty saddle mare for money enough to
start in on, then borrowing some from the banks and winning
scholarships the rest of the way. Incidentally, he has a very handsome
chin.
Now there are two things that are an abomination to me, yea
three--white eyelashes, a receding chin, and negro dialect written by
a northern writer. The white eyelashes I admit are a misfortune, not a
fault; the receding chin--well, I have wondered if that defect might
be remedied by a little crinoline infused into the character, for
without a doubt it is a visible sign of a weakness that will sooner
or later become visible. The negro dialect allusion has no business
here, but I had written it down once in a note-book in a list of my
pet abominations, and I wanted to work it in somewhere, so this seemed
as good a place as any. However, the question of chin is the only one
with which we have to deal to-night.
As I have above intimated, Alfred is dark-lashed and well-chinned,
else we could never have been the friends that we are. That we are
good friends is proved by the fact that whenever I want to go anywhere
with him I ask him to take me along, and if there is any reason why I
should not go, all he ever says by way of explanation is a brief, "No,
I can't be bothered with you to-day, my dear."
It happened pretty much after that fashion yesterday afternoon, when I
had lunched with Ann Lisbeth and he had mentioned that he had a long
country drive to take. The sun was shining alluringly, and I had been
feeling very dull.
"I believe I'll go with you," I volunteered, as we congregated around
him at the front door and he began looking about for his black leather
bag.
"I wish I could take you, for it's a beautiful drive," he responded,
looking down at me with a smile in his brown eyes, "but I couldn't be
sure of getting you home before very late."
"Is the trip such a long one?"
"No; but I have some urgent business in the city afterward. I've
brought suit for a medical bill, and am expecting at any moment to be
summoned to the magistrate's court."
"How exciting! But I could come home on the car if you are detained
very late."
"How disgusting rather!" he answered, ignoring the suggestion of mine
about the street-car, but I saw him pick up a lap-robe lying near and
brush a little dust from it. This was a sign that he expected me to
go, for he scorns the comforts of a lap-robe for himself, even on the
coldest days.
"It's hateful business," he continued, dropping the robe and searching
around for the little broom which Ann Lisbeth keeps tied to the
hat-rack, for both her doctors consider that cleanliness is godliness.
"There will be a pack of lies sworn to in heathen jargon and hours
wasted trying to make the scoundrels come to terms."
"Heathen? Literally or figuratively?"
"Both. The man who owes the money is that Hindoo I operated on last
year for appendicitis, but the circus he travels with is really
responsible for the debt; so I'm going to attach a few of their lions
and tigers and snake-charmers to make them settle up while they're in
town this time."
"Why, Alfred! I don't know of anything this side of African jungles so
thrilling. I believe I'll go with you anyway, even if I have to walk
back. If the circus men should decide to pay you in lions instead of
money you might need me to help herd them home."
He smiled as I reached for my hat.
"There's something in that," he said, "for they would willingly follow
_you_." Then, coming a step nearer so that he could not be heard by
Ann Lisbeth, who stood near by, he kept on, "I would trust you to
charm anything that has eyes."
The telephone rang just as he spoke, and Ann Lisbeth went to answer
it. I was surprised at the tone of his voice, for Alfred very rarely
pays me compliments, and never one anything like this before. I was
surprised still more at myself as I caught at this opportunity for a
sincere, _masculine_ compliment.
"Alfred," I said quickly, half afraid that Ann Lisbeth would come back
before I could make him say what I longed to hear, "Alfred, do you
think I'm good-looking?"
I had the grace to blush as I said it, but the blush was not for
Alfred. I felt that he knew the real question in my mind was, "Do you
suppose Richard Chalmers thought I was good-looking that day we sat on
the old stone wall by the orchard gate?"
But Alfred was simple and sincere always, and he saw in my question
only the query any vain girl might put to a close friend. And into his
eyes darted a quick look of pain and confusion. I wondered if my
vanity lowered his ideal of me.
"You evidently have no knowledge of what I _do_ think of you--else you
wouldn't ask such a silly question," he answered gravely.
"I beg your pardon if--if I have offended you by my foolish talk, but
I was only trying to make you say something pretty to me--you never
do, you know." I was genuinely confused, myself, now.
"I thought 'pretty things' were unnecessary between you and me, Ann,"
he answered again, more gravely still.
"Every woman likes them," I said, trying to relieve the tension by my
tone of lightness.
"Then I can gratify you--if that's what you want. I think--that is,
to me you are the most beautiful woman in the world!"
I was so stunned at his unexpected reply and the entirely _new_ look
on his face as he made it that I should have betrayed the thoughts
which came surging to my mind if Ann Lisbeth had not rejoined us then
with a commonplace remark about my taking a heavy coat along with me
if I decided to go with Alfred.
"You're going, aren't you?" he asked casually, as if the matter were
of no moment with him, but I saw how he reached for my coat as I
nodded my head, and he bade Ann Lisbeth not to take up so much of his
valuable time as she fussed a little over the careless way I fixed my
veil, and insisted on my letting her pin it on properly.
The woods were beautiful, but I saw their beauty only in a vague,
fantastic way. My thoughts were in a sad tumult, partly on my own
account, partly on Alfred's, for I felt that his strange words spoken
at the hall door would be followed up by something far more manifest.
I knew him so well that there was no need for me to agitate my mind
over whether his words and looks meant anything, as I had done in the
case of Richard Chalmers that day in the orchard when he had said
"pretty things." Ah, he had said them so prettily!
How could I let Alfred know, without wounding him and spoiling our
comradeship? Or would it be better _not_ to let him know? To ignore
his words and avoid such dangerous ground in the future--until he had
forgotten them himself. Even the strongest, staunchest lovers cease to
love after a while, when there is nothing for the flame to feed upon,
I argued, and I set about steering away from any reference that might
lead back to the perilous line of talk which had been so mercifully
interrupted.
I espied a redbird--belated little wanderer--sitting on the fence by
the side of the road, and I began telling Alfred of Mammy Lou's
superstitions concerning redbirds and other little creatures too happy
and bright to have even a tinge of superstition attached to them. But
as I laughed at the notion I made a wish, and saw with joy that the
bird flew away out of view.
There is a queer admixture of the fatalist in my make-up and, as the
redbird flew away, carrying my wish with him, I had a feeling that
that wish would come to pass. It was a very simple, fervid,
all-embracing affair--that I should see Richard Chalmers again very
soon--and that he should _love_ me.
The first time I had looked at that man's face I felt as if I had
turned a leaf in the book of my destiny. When Rufe mentioned his name
to me and I later learned that he was the same man whose face had
formed the centerpiece of all my mental pictures, I fancied that Fate
was about to keep her promise; and when he had lingered over saying
good-by that night at home I felt as if my fancies might have a chance
of coming true.
Then I had come up to the city and stayed for days and days, without
hearing one word from him. This humiliated me until I was angry with
myself for having ever given him a thought. I am of a proud nature
which would demand far more of a man than he should ever _see_ that I
gave.
I was certainly not in love with Richard Chalmers as I drove with
Alfred out that country road, but I was intensely fascinated, so much
so that my thoughts flew to him with the flight of the redbird, and
for a while I forgot that I was neglecting my task of keeping Alfred's
mind diverted.
From the country we drove back to Alfred's office and I stayed in the
reception-room and looked at magazines while he was busy with some
patients in his private office. It was getting well toward evening and
the stenographer was beginning to arrange her desk in readiness to
leave when Alfred came into the room and began to fume about the delay
in being summoned to court. He suggested that I telephone Cousin
Eunice that I would be late, which I did, but I found that my absence
was going to make small difference to them, as she and Rufe were going
out to a lecture, and I should be thrown on the society of Waterloo
for the evening.
"Make Alfred take you on to Ann Lisbeth's, and Rufe and I will come by
for you after the lecture," she suggested, which was an easy solution
and would not cause Alfred to feel that he must hurry on my account.
He smiled when I told him of this arrangement.
"So you are going to be left entirely to me this one evening, it
seems," he said. "The Gordons are dining out and bade me satisfy my
hunger before I came home. I propose that we go on up to Beauregard's
now and have dinner, then I'll take you home and let you tell tales to
Waterloo until he goes to sleep."
"I'm not dressed to go to Beauregard's," I began, looking down sadly
at my tailored clothes and linen blouse. I was very hungry, and
Beauregard's is a delicious place. But my longings were cut short by a
ring at the telephone, and I knew from the answers he made that Alfred
was at last summoned to the magistrate's court.
"Jump in and go with me," he directed, as he began giving the colored
boy and stenographer directions for closing up the office. "Likely I
sha'n't be long; and we'll go to dinner as soon as they get through
with me."
We drove to the magistrate's court and I sat in the car and waited for
him. I waited while the darkness came on and the street lights flared
up; I waited while everybody else was crowding into the homeward-bound
electric cars--and I was still waiting long after the throngs had
thinned out and the cars were carrying their scant loads, which means
that all the world is at its evening meal.
Finally he came out, looking tired and disgusted, but he told me that
the case had been adjusted satisfactorily to him, although the final
settlement was not to be made until after the circus performance that
night, when the business manager of the mighty show could be freed
from his duties and so present himself at the pleasant little affair.
"The mischief of it is that my lawyer and I have to go out to the show
grounds and keep an eye on the manager," he explained, with a slightly
worried look.
"And don't you know what to do with me?"
"Exactly! It's too late to send you home in a cab by yourself, and I
can't go and take you now. What shall I do with you?"
"Why, take me to the circus."
He looked at me a moment, then looked at his watch and hesitated. "I
hate to," he said, "but I don't see anything else to be done." So we
started off again.
Fortunately the performance was nearly over when we got there, for it
was the last night and everything was cut delightfully short, so I
decided that I would rather stay out in the machine for that length of
time, and watch the crowds swarm out to the street-cars than to be
mixed up more closely with them.
Alfred drove up under a big arc-light and halted at the end of a long
string of automobiles and carriages.
"You'll not be afraid here--and I'll be back as soon as I can," he
said as he left me.
I pulled the rug up over me and reached back for a magazine I had
brought, but the unsteady light on the printed pages soon caused my
eyes to hurt, so I laid the book down again and gave myself up to the
misery of just plain waiting.
After what seemed hours to me Alfred sent a little negro boy to the
car with the message that I was to empty out his largest instrument
case and send it to him.
"Maybe they have compromised on part money and a few baby lions," I
mused, as I leaned back and gave myself up to another period of
waiting.
I once heard Ann Lisbeth say that the only medical attention a
doctor's wife ever gets is a sample bottle of iron tonic hastily
handed her from a desk drawer once in a while, if she happens to be
sitting near by and looking pale. I should not object to this, being
healthy and seldom needing an iron tonic, but I do think the long
waiting spells which any one who goes out with a doctor has to be
subjected to would eventually make a woman so nervous that she would
have to have some kind of tonic. I have registered a vow that
hereafter, even if I start out somewhere with Alfred in August, I
shall take my furs along, not knowing but that it will be winter when
I get back.
He finally came, however, and in looking at him I forgot the
tediousness of my long wait. His eyes were flashing and his face was
flushed. He looked very angry--and very handsome. Evidently he had not
been suffering from cold as I had.
He had on his long overcoat, which seemed almost to drag him down, big
as he is, with its weight; and the pockets were bulging
dropsically--if there is such a word. His instrument case he deposited
in the car, right in the way of my feet, but when I tried to move it I
found that it would not budge.
"Are you tired?" he asked, as he began to crank the car.
"I'm tired and cold--and _hungry_."
"All of which will soon be remedied," and he smiled as he looked at
me. "Ann, you never saw a man in my condition before in your life."
"What?"
He had a hard time working his way into the car with those bulging
pockets, but he finally got fixed satisfactorily, then he moved the
heavy instrument case; and I gave my feet several relieved shakes.
"Very likely for the first time in your young life you behold a man
who has more money than he knows what to do with!"
"_Money!_" I edged away respectfully to give the pockets more room.
"Is it money?"
"Every pound of it is coin of the realm," he answered. "It is
_nickels_."
"Alfred!"
"Those low-down scoundrels paid me in nickels." And his eyes began to
flash again.
"What on earth for?"
"For pure cussedness!"
"And you had to count them all!" No wonder he had been gone a long
time.
"I sat there like a fool and counted the instrument case full; then I
dumped the rest into my pockets. The lawyer is sitting in front of his
little pile now, counting it; and there is a small bag full to be sent
to the magistrate to-morrow."
"Why, it's like a dream, isn't it? I never heard of so much money."
"And I never believed before that surgeons charge too much for their
services--but now--"
We laughed all the way back to town; we drove up to Beauregard's
laughing; we laughed as Alfred slipped off his coat and the solemn
waiter looked startled at the heaviness of the garment. Then we looked
around leisurely to select a table, for it was late and the diners
were few.
"Let's go into the booth," I suggested, nodding toward a small
mahogany partition at one side and near the front of the restaurant.
This compartment was built with some other purpose in view than acting
as a private dining-room, for the open doorway is unscreened in any
way, and the partition itself is only about seven feet high. I set
down these uninteresting figures to let you know that I am a
well-brought-up young person and don't go into private dining-rooms
unchaperoned--nor should I have been here at all with any one but
Alfred.
I had learned the comforts of this mahogany screen from having come
here often with Cousin Eunice and Waterloo. We always make a bee-line
for its shelter when we have him with us, for he fills his mouth so
full that his mother always has to make him stop and unload. This is
less embarrassing when there is a partition between her and the
public.
The place happened to be unoccupied when we came into the restaurant
that night, and Alfred and I sat down with a sigh of mingled
exhaustion and content. He began a lavish and extensive order which I
curtailed materially on account of the lateness of the hour.
"We can't spend _all_ our nickels to-night," I said, reprovingly; and
we laughed a little over the nickels, at intervals, all through the
meal.
Then we talked, or at least, I talked, which is usually the case when
Alfred and I are together. I asked him questions about the circus
people and the curious sights he had seen in the tent which was not
open to the public. And he told me about the hideous Cossacks standing
guard over their high-pommelled saddles, as the hurried process of
packing went on, the long-haired ranchmen, who were tenderly laying
away their guns; and the Hindoo woman who sat and glared at him as he
handled the nickels which would mean months of a lessened salary for
her and her husband.
"_Think_ of the balloons and pop-corn and red lemonade those nickels
represent," I said, still on the subject of the circus, as we finished
our meal and left the table.
Under the influence of the good dinner, the soft lights, with their
soothing shades on the table, and the warm air of the comfortable
room after my long wait in the autumn cold, I was beginning to feel
deliciously sleepy, and was thinking with pleasure in how short a time
Alfred could make the distance home, now that the streets were not
crowded--when we left the booth and I looked around at the people
occupying the other tables. I looked at them indifferently, as I
waited for Alfred to put on his overcoat, my eyes traveling slowly
around the room, until they stopped at a table close in front of where
I was standing.
Just outside the partition and sitting so squarely facing it that I
dropped one of my long gloves in my startled surprise when I saw him,
was Richard Chalmers, smoking a fragrant cigar, from which he had
stripped a dainty red-and-gold band, which was lying upon the
newspaper he had spread out in front of him.
But he was not reading, and I imagined from his look that he had not
been reading for some time, for he was looking straight at me with the
same half-amused smile he had worn when he had sat on the old stone
wall that day and told me that there was a vast difference in our
ages. It seemed that he was quietly waiting for me to look at him,
and, as our eyes met, he rose at once, and came over and shook hands
with me.
"I was waiting for you to come out, Miss Fielding," he said, after I
had introduced the two men and they had reached simultaneously for my
glove, which Alfred got to first--then Mr. Chalmers began to fold the
paper he had not been reading, and made preparations to leave the
place as we did. "I happened to drop in here a little while ago, and,
fortunately, chose this table. Then I heard your voice--I felt sure
that it was you--so I waited to see."
Alfred excused himself a moment and crossed the room to speak to a
white-haired old gentleman at one of the tables. I recognized this old
man as a well-known back number in the medical profession of the city,
and had heard Doctor Gordon say that he was pitiably grateful for any
attention which the younger fellows showed him. Alfred spoke a few
words of congratulation on a recent address the old doctor had made at
a medical meeting, they both laughed over a half-whispered joke, then
Alfred turned to leave. An appealing hand was laid on his coat sleeve,
as he allowed himself to be cornered by the old man, and a harangue
ensued, carried on in a quavering, high-pitched voice, with now and
then a deep-toned word from Alfred.
I stood and waited for him and Richard Chalmers came closer to me as I
glanced over into one of the mirrors on the wall and began to tie the
big veil around my hat again, and to pull up my coat-collar a bit
closer, preparatory to going out into the chilly air.
He dropped his voice and began to talk as rapidly as his lazy,
southern drawl would let him. He seemed to have a good deal to say and
he wished to say it all. I was in an agony of fear that the old
doctor's harangue might not last long enough.
"Yes, the next week after seeing you I went East and returned only
this morning," Richard's voice was saying, and, while the words made
all the difference in the world to me, still I heard them only
indistinctly. All I could take in was the fact that I was hearing his
voice again.
"I reached the city this morning, and telephoned Clayborne about noon
to ask him where you were. You remember you told me that you were
booked to come home with them? I was very glad indeed when he said
that you were at his house, and I should have gone out to see Mrs.
Clayborne to-night--I wanted to tell her about my mother and sister
coming up to town next week for some shopping. They live in
Charlotteville--eastern end of the state, you know--but Clayborne said
that there was a lecture or something on for to-night. He thought you
would all likely be at home to-morrow evening."
"Yes--I think so. We shall be very glad to see you."
"It was the merest chance that I dropped in here and heard you
talking--I understood that something very amusing had happened at a
circus."
"Yes," I said weakly.
"So I stayed to listen. You will forgive me--for I knew that it was
your voice, and"--with a _wonderful_ smile--"you see I am very fond of
music."