Donald Manford's absence in far-away New York saw the calendar into
February. It was a month which for some time had held a fixed place in
Charles's thought, as Mary Wing's last month at home. Now the days had
brought him this new concern, by no means unrelated to Mary's impending
departure. That Donald was his concern now, as well as hers, he had
acknowledged, once and for all, in that moment of pause by the hack: and
none saw more clearly than he that the acknowledgment was a damaging
one, opening long vistas of annoying possibilities. Well it might be
that all he had once planned and worried for himself, and much more, he
would now have to plan and worry for his weak and amorous friend. And
suppose Mary Wing went off, leaving the whole business still unsettled?
However, there was no use in borrowing trouble. For the present,
Donald's well-wishers enjoyed an interlude of complete repose. And on or
about the day of the simpleton's return to the danger-zone, it was
recalled, he was to be whisked off again to the Helen Carson
house-party, where all might end happily yet. Mary deserved her tittle
of credit for that arrangement, at any rate. Charles, making the most of
these peaceful days, reconsecrated himself to Letters and the finding of
his Line.
Donald himself remained pleasantly unaware of the difficulties created
by his unreliable antics. The youth was known to possess a common
combination of characteristics: he had a novel-hero's chin and an
underlying soft streak. Donald was a little ease-loving; he
unconsciously slanted to the line of least resistance. As to work, Mary
Wing, who had caught him young, had pretty well ironed out his softness;
yet it seemed to persist even there. Witness his dallying for a moment
with an "office proposition" in New York, at whatever emolument, when
far larger professional opportunities awaited him in a Wyoming camp. As
to getting himself married off, Donald's traits were obviously at once
an advantage to his friends and an added risk: they seemed to indicate
clearly that he or she who had his ear last, and took the strongest hand
with him, would win the day. Doubtless his truest friends were most
resolved that such hand should be theirs.
At any rate, the young squire's presentation of himself at the Wings',
on the afternoon of the day he got back from New York, was by
appointment strictly. It was Friday again, a week to a day from his two
calls upon Angela. Donald "stopped by" Olive Street on his hurried way
uptown. Having had a very strenuous part of a day in his office at Hoag,
Hackett & Manford's, and having a number of things still to do before
five o'clock, he designed to give, say, ten minutes to his call upon his
more than sister. He gave thirty minutes, and emerged into the sunshine
with a sobered face. And, on leaving Mary thus, almost the first person
he saw next was Mary's special friend, Charles Garrott, bowling by.
The eyes of the young men met and Donald nodded gloomily. Charles, as it
happened, was but taking a last use of his car, prior to the old lady's
return on Monday. But Donald did not know that, and he thought,
absently, what a fool old Charlie was to ride around this way all the
time, when he had legs and could walk like a man. At the same moment,
Charles, inevitably, was thinking what a fool Donald was, for exactly
the opposite reason. Never again, it might be, would Charles Garrott see
a bachelor walking Washington Street alone, without some vague sense of
circumambient peril.
Charles had not expected to take up the new worries until after the
match-making house-party; but the sight of Donald unprotected out there
made an irresistible appeal to his higher nature, especially as no
trouble to himself would be involved. Accordingly, he answered Donald's
distrait salute with demonstrative smiles and signalings, and
immediately fired an order through the speaking-tube. And the engineer,
surprised, saw the splendid car of the old lady stop with a jerk, back,
wheel, and come sliding up to his side at the curb.
"Well, old fellow! Glad to see you back!" said Charles, hospitably
swinging open the door. "Hop in and let me drive you up! I want to hear
about your trip."
Donald was faintly pleased by this unusual attentiveness. He was one of
those extraordinary persons who never ride when it is possible to walk;
on the other hand, he seldom turned away from the chance of a good talk
about himself. And he was very short of time now, too, owing to his
detention at the Wings'.
So he stepped into the limousine, his manner abstracted and distinctly
consequential.