XXIV

Luemma, the twelve-dollar cook, had never dreamed of having

opera-glasses of her own; hence she looked pleased, for once in her

life, when her departing young mistress unexpectedly presented her with

a pair: old and somewhat shabby, doubtless, but still possessing the

valuable power of bringing distant objects near. And it must be assumed

that the nice man who sold the gasoline was equally glad to have the

Fordette for his own: else he would probably not have fattened up the

trousseau, one day, by purchasing the interesting little vehicle (cheap)

for cash.

Because of mourning in the bride's family, the Flower-Manford nuptials

would be "very quiet." Invitations were strictly limited to near

relatives of the contracting parties, with a very few of the most

intimate friends. So the social columns of the "Post" had warned and

notified all persons in due season. However, Charles Garrott, reading,

was not cast down. As the groom's chosen supporter in his "most need,"

Charles had had his fixed place from the beginning.

Further, he considered himself fully entitled to be present in the

category of intimate friends, not to mention his peculiar relation as

one who had narrowly escaped a yet closer privilege in the premises.

Angela's was an afternoon wedding: the hour of "taking place," five

o'clock. At four o'clock on the set day, Charles prematurely snapped his

tutorial watch at Miss Grace (who was still waiting), and rushed away to

his rooms. At half-past four, after scenes of wild haste, he stood out

in the Studio, for final inspection. He was arrayed in what the Britons

like to call a "morning coat": a morning coat new-pressed by Judge

Blenso's skillful hand and patent iron, made glorious by Judge Blenso's

best new waistcoat, especially urged for the occasion. Now the admiring

secretary pinned a white carnation in the morning-coat lapel, as excited

over it all, oddly enough, as if the wedding afoot were his young

employer's own. So dismissed with a blessing, Charles jumped into a

taxicab, at four thirty-five precisely, and shot away to the Bellingham.

Here, in a bedroom upstairs, a brief delay occurred, owing to the

appearance and behavior of the bridegroom. The face that Donald, in his

regalia, turned upon his best man, bursting in, was seen to be a pale

green in color; his voice and speech were highly erratic, his attempt at

a brave smile a sight to rend one's heart. On this pitiful funk,

Charles's gibes, his appeals to the higher nature, had but small effect.

"Here's the ring," said the groom, with a sick croak. "Charlie, hadn't I

better take one little drink?"

However, the cab was swift. The drive to Center Street was but a matter

of five minutes. Once more the two young men were stepping, side by

side, up the worn brick walkway. It made Charles think of the day they

had come to return the books. But this time the line of vehicles before

the weather-beaten door was conclusive testimony to the triumphant

activity within.

In the hall, a lady greeted them, a near relative doubtless. A dim

pleased significant hush seemed to emanate from the lady, and pervade

the house. From behind the dark curtains of the parlor, there proceeded

the murmur of assembled persons, waiting. Even the hatstand, though

essentially unchanged, somehow conveyed a mysterious expectancy.

They were sent aloft to an upper chamber, conceived to be Wallie's. Here

they were instructed to wait quietly till somebody had need of them.

The waiting was rather trying. Tête-à-tête in the small bare room, groom

and attendant talked but fitfully. Donald seemed to have drawn little

courage from his dram. He sat stiffly on a chair-edge, jumping at each

peal of the loud little bell below. Much more unreasonably, the best

man showed signs of nervousness, too: it was observed that he had

cut himself twice while shaving. And suddenly, jerking out his

watch, he announced that probably he had better step out for a

minute--reconnoiter--see what he could see.

"They ought to want you now, seems to me," quoth he. "I'll see. You sit

tight, right there."

"Awright," croaked Donald.

So Charles stepped out from the nuptial waiting-room, and closed the

door behind him. Having done this, he came to a standstill, abruptly:

for here, in the Flowers' still upstairs hall, he beheld just the sight

he had gone forth to seek.

At the other end of the hall, in the dimness, stood the bride's

attendant, Cousin Mary Wing. She, too, had just come out of a door, it

seemed; she, too, had stopped and was gazing. And the first look of the

blue eyes, over the space, released in him, the old helper with his

secret help, a vast content; just touched with a subtle sadness that

such a little gain could mean so much to her now.

He moved toward her in the expectant quiet....

Doubtless, it was no small thing that Mr. Mysinger had kept, more or

less, that promise he had made under threat and duress; marvel enough

that he had, in fact, "personally requested" Mr. Senff to "see what

could be done," etc., as agreed. Surely the whole matter had been fuller

of openings for double-dealing than an egg was of meat. And yet, to

Charles, the upshot of all the hoping and planning had been a cruel

disappointment. For Life, alas, still differs from Romance, realities

still refuse to fade like a dream, at just the suitable moment. In

brief, the School Board, by a majority of one, had yesterday ruled that

Mary should have her reappointment to the High School staff, "as soon as

arrangements would permit"; but of the assistant principal's office no

word was said.

To one who had voluntarily surrendered her great promotion, this seemed

but a scanty recompense. And as for the new plan, his and Hazen's,

concerning the Assistant Superintendency of Schools next year--no

less--("There's really a good chance, now that the Mysinger bunch are

showing a better spirit," said Hazen)--that was much too remote to seem

very substantial just now....

In the dark upstairs hall, the friends greeted briefly, in voices

scarcely above a whisper. Mary said hurriedly: "Donald's here? Angela'll

be ready to see him in just a second."

"I'll produce him--dead or alive."

The best man laid his hand on the banister. But his subconsciousness

warned him that the banisters were dusty, and he took his hand away.

"You look happy to-day."

"Yes--shouldn't I be? Weren't you--pleased, when you read--"

"They've treated you abominably--no other way to express it."

She smiled at him, but looked away. And he perceived, or thought he did,

that the memory of their last meeting remained with her, touching her

manner with a faint self-consciousness.

"You are hard to satisfy," she said. "I've felt like singing all day....

Will you tell Donald to come now?"

"Yes. I'm going to see you after this is over?"

But no, she, the busy, was to stay here for the night, it seemed,

keeping Mrs. Flower company in her daughterlessness. And Charles, having

anticipated this occasion principally as her holiday-time and his own,

turned away with the sense that most of the wedding was over....

Yet this, of course, was but the side-play of elders, counting for

nothing. Now the prime action of the day, the culminating hour, was at

hand.

Donald was whisked away for a brief glimpse at his love. Returning, he

confronted almost immediately the moment of his public appearance and

confession. Word came to Wallie's room that the gentlemen were to

descend forthwith, for better or worse. "Now then!" whispered Charles,

as they started down--"chest out, chin up!" And Donald grinned back

feebly, as if to prove to himself that he still could. Now the dim hush

deepened and thickened, the little house seemed to hold its breath.

There was no music to cover these preliminaries, because of the

mourning. In complete stillness, groom and escort stepped through the

curtains into the assembled company, which, though limited in numbers as

it was, seemed to fill the little car-shaped parlor. Through a narrow

lane between vaguely discerned relatives and friends, the young men

moved to their appointed place. Here they stood, almost stepping on a

stout clergyman, undergoing his frank, interested scrutiny, through a

dreadful pause. Then at last a stir in the company made it clear that

the bride was at hand; and after that Donald could feel that nobody was

paying any attention to him.

So without great pomp or ritual, fuss or feathers, came the great moment

to which all one woman's life had looked forward, to which, conceivably,

it might all look back. Standing statue-like a few feet from her, the

fingers of one hand feeling in Judge Blenso's waistcoat-pocket for the

ring, those of the other resting lightly on the cold Latrobe, Charles

listened to the beautiful words which converted Angela Flower into Mrs.

Donald Manford.

Angela "was married in a traveling-suit." She was a little pale, like

her lord and master; her responses were just audible. And never had

Charles seen her look so maidenly sweet, so feminine and engaging and

desirable. Her soft and pretty face, yet unbroken by a line, was

immensely serious. Her look into the beyond was faintly wistful, a

little awed, supremely innocent. A wonder dawned in the great dark eyes.

Here girlhood ended: in great happiness, doubtless, yet in great

mysteries too. Here came change, so colossal that no man could ever know

change in these terms. Where led this unknown parting of the ways, what

was the heart and meaning of Life?

And Mary Wing's face, glimpsed once or twice over the bride's shoulder,

was surprised wearing much the same look too. No woman, perhaps, even a

fighting educator, listens quite unmoved to these old words. Sweetly

pensive, Mary gazed at her so different cousin. And Charles wondered if

she had got quite philosophical now, and wished that she had something

much bigger to feel like singing about to-day....

"I pronounce you _mon_ and wife," cried the parson: and it was not the

first thing he had pronounced loudly, either.

So came relaxation from the solemn stiffness. There was a flutter of

movement, human speech again, the swift embrace of bride and bride's

mother. Then speech became free and general, and the near relatives

rushed upon the happy pair.

Charles, having wrung Donald's hand in the approved manner, had his due

turn before the center of the visible world. It was the first time he

had seen Angela, to speak to, since the day of the party-call. But,

though she was naturally a little nervous and staccato in the

circumstances, he considered that she received his felicitations with

dignity and graciousness.

"Donald and I appreciated your gift so much. I hope you got my note? It

was perfectly lovely. We shall think of you whenever we use it."

Interesting, indeed, it was to Charles to see these pretty eyes, that he

had once caused to weep, resting upon him with this genuine bright

restless indifference.

"When you're in New York, you must be sure to let us know. Donald and I

will always be so glad to see you. I hope we'll have a guest-room, and

then you must come to stay with us. I do hope you will have better luck

with your stories, Mr. Garrott. I'll be watching for you in the

magazines--remember! How do you do, Cousin Annie? Donald and I

appreciated your gift so much ..."

So Charles Garrott passed on, a bachelor still, still thinking about his

"story."

In the "small reception following"--to quote the "Post" again--Charles

did what he could to make the affair a success, circulating about like a

valued member of the family, speaking winningly to old ladies whom he

did not know, heartening the timid with cake and wine. His own best

moments in the reception were short talks with two Flowers, brothers of

the bride. But Wallie, the chemist and lamp-repairer,--so it was now

written on the stars,--was down for his Easter vacation only: he was

returning to college next week. "The Wings want mother to visit them,

till I come back in June," he let fall, with truly masculine

unconsciousness; and felt no irony in his sister's impending departure

to lead her own life, while Mary Wing, staying at home, took care of her

mother.

As for the older brother, the wealthy and generous Tommy, it seemed that

he had run on all the way from Pittsburg for the express purpose of

"giving Angela away." A handsome volatile little chap, Tommy proved to

be, with a mustache, a manner, and a worried look in the corners of his

eyes: and Charles, introduced, examined him with unaffected interest.

For Charles had often thought of Tommy, often wondered if Tommy might

not be, at heart, a master humorist. Unluckily, that interesting point

was never settled, the acquaintance being cut short untimely by the

general movement toward the hall.

The embarkation of Mr. and Mrs. Manford was "very quiet." There was no

hurling of old slippers, no unseemly merriment. They came down the

narrow stairs amid a little rice, a last subdued chorus of farewells.

The bride's pallor was noticed now, her pretty smile was a little fixed.

The groom, on the contrary, affected the hearty, the jovial: his manly

backbone was obviously reasserting itself, now that he was a lawful

protector henceforward. It was observed on all sides that they made a

good-looking and well-matched couple.

So Angela and Donald went out on their great adventure. And Charles went

with them down the walkway, with a bag or two to carry, doing his duty

as he saw it, to the end. With his own hands he clicked shut the door

of their wedding-coach. (A liveried one it was, the symbolic vehicle not

being available, for reasons explained.) "We'll hope to see you soon, in

our own Home," said Angela, the Home-Maker, the very last thing. And

then the coach leapt away, and he, the old principal friend, stood

motionless, bareheaded in the mild sunshine, staring after it....

Stepping up on the verandah again, Charles encountered the relative who

had welcomed him on arrival--Mrs. Flinchman, Finchman, did she say?--and

who now welcomed him anew, beaming.

"Well, Mr. Garrott!--your friend is a fortunate young man, is he not? I

don't think I ever knew a sweeter, truer, more womanly girl. And you,"

she queried, with immense archness, "knew her so very well, too, I

believe?"

He intimated pleasantly that few, indeed, had known her better, perhaps:

whereon the lady's expression grew more significant than ever.

"Well, no wonder the men were all flocking about her, I'm sure--a

lovely, old-time young woman! But I understand it was love at first

sight with these two--they simply _flew_ together! Ah," said Mrs.

Finchman (Flinchman?) with a sigh, which, however, did not disturb the

deeply gratified look indigenous to women at weddings--"ah, it's very

sweet! A real old-fashioned romance, that's what I call it, Mr. Garrott!

And now that we've come to the end of the story, who can doubt that

they'll live happy ever after--as you literary men are so fond of

putting it?"

"Who, indeed, madam? It--all went off very smoothly, I thought?

Well!--"

"You must be going? Then _good_-bye!--so sorry it's over! Knowing of you

so well as dear Angela's faithful friend, Mr. Garrott, I feel that we

are anything but strangers, and hope so much you will find time to come

in and see us, one evening very soon. We live quietly on Mason Street,

next to the Methodist Church--I and my sweet girl Jennie."

* * * * *

He left the house, after all, with Mary Wing, who was going home for an

hour's work on school examination-books, before returning to sup with

Mrs. Flower. This decision she had casually communicated, by the

hatstand just now. So the "holiday-time" came to a six-blocks' walk: and

even that was an after-thought. Truly, if a man had a mind to see this

woman, without definite transactions to discuss, he had need of all his

delicacy and tact. Calls, drives, bridge-parties, going to places, doing

things: she had no room in her life for such as these. Time was more

precious to Mary than to a writer. And she had convinced one writer, at

least, by a moving tribute to his perfect friendship, that she had never

had a personal thought of him in her life.

But Charles did not despair. He was a young man still. And meantime he

was happy.

"You should wear a hat like that every day," she said, agreeably, as

they turned into Washington Street. "You look seven feet tall at

least.... By the way, did you feel your ears burning, about one o'clock

to-day?"

He said no, and smiled a little. Her intention of keeping the

conversation away from certain topics--topics that might have been

uppermost in both their minds to-day, perhaps--had been perfectly

evident to him from the moment they crossed the verandah.

"I met Judge Blenso as I came home to lunch," continued Mary, "and he

stopped for a talk--purely to tell me what a wonderful person you were,

it seemed. But in that connection, he gave me some exciting news--that

you've just had a very flattering offer for 'Bondwomen'--and refused it!

I couldn't understand why."

At that, he looked subtly pleased, while affecting but a modest

amusement. The event in question had been, in truth, sweet balm to the

spirit and the confidence bruised in so many rebuffs. Still, his reply

was only that his relative was born for a press-agent clearly. Requested

to explain this dark saying, he gave a light disparaging account of his

only offer, stating that Appleholt Brothers, before accepting his book,

had desired him to rewrite it throughout, completely revolutionizing the

character of his heroine and omitting not less than fifty thousand

words, including the existing plot.