THE WRONG WOMAN.
Somewhat exultant over the new aspect of affairs, and unable longer to
endure the strain of the load of love he was carrying about with him,
Quimby came to a desperate determination.
This was no other, than to confide in his room-mate, and once dreaded
rival, and then, provided he was not thrown out of the window, or kicked
down stairs, ask his advice about how to render himself clearly
understood by _her_, at the same time relating his former unfortunate
attempt.
This programme he carried into effect one morning, as Clem was blacking
his boots. Perhaps he had made private calculations on a blacking-brush
hitting a man with less damage than some larger article.
"I say, Clem!" Quimby began, "I--I want to ask your advice, you know!"
"I am at your service, my dear boy," replied the unsuspecting Clem,
rubbing away at his boot.
"Well--I--I want to know--the fact is, I--I am boiling over with love!"
"What!" exclaimed Clem, looking up with an amused smile, "you are not in
love with Cyn too, are you?"
"With Cyn, _too_?" These words were balm to the soul of Quimby, and gave
him courage to answer eagerly,
"Ah! no use in that for _me_, you know! It--it is _she_--Miss
Rogers--Nattie--you know!"
The blacking-brush left Clem's hand, but not to fly at the expectant
Quimby. It simply dropped onto the floor, while Clem gave vent to his
feelings in a prolonged whistle.
"Is it possible!" he said, having thus relieved himself of his first
astonishment. "I might have suspected as much if I had stopped to think,
though!"
"Yes, I--I think I showed it plain enough, you know!" said Quimby
candidly. "You see, I--I tried to tell her of it once, before you came
here, when you were invisible, you know, but some way she--she didn't
just understand, and--and bolted, you know! So just tell me how to do
it, that is a good fellow, for do it I must!"
Clem picked up his blacking-brush, and very deliberately smeared the
boot he had just polished, with another coat of blacking, before
answering.
"How can I tell you?" he said at last. "You don't suppose proposing is
an every-day habit of mine, do you? My dear boy, I never proposed in my
life!"
"But you--you ought to--I mean you will sometime, you know! Just give me
a--a start, you know!" pleaded Quimby, sitting down on the edge of the
bed.
"Shall I call her and propose for you?" inquired Clem, somewhat
ironically, and glancing at the sounder.
"No--no--I--_No!_" cried Quimby in great alarm at this proposition. "She
might think you meant yourself, you know!"
"In which case the rejection would be sure!" said Clem. Then flinging
his brush savagely into a corner, he added as he went out,
"You must settle it yourself, old fellow! No one can help us in those
matters. There is no duplex!"
Quimby was therefore left to his own devices; and his own devices
brought about a most extraordinary result.
That same evening, Nattie coming over to Cyn's room, and finding her
absent, sat down to await her return, which Mrs. Simonson assured her
would be very soon. There was no gas lighted, and in the dusk Nattie
remained, feeling, perhaps, an affinity with the somber shadows of the
twilight. As she sat musing, now wishing "C" had left her life forever
when he left it with the odors of musk and bear's-grease about him, and
now despising herself for the weakness she found it so hard to overcome,
she became conscious of a denser shadow in the shadows of the open door.
"I--I beg pardon. Is it Cyn?" asked this shadow, in the voice of Quimby.
"No," Nattie replied, "Cyn is out."
"I--I beg pardon. Is it _you_?" the shadow asked with accents of delight.
Nattie acknowledged the "you."
"And you--you are alone?"
Nattie glanced around the room hoping the Duchess had strayed in, so she
might truthfully say no. But she was compelled to reply in the
affirmative.
"Glorious opportunity--I--it must not be wasted! I--I will explain, you
know!" he exclaimed, excitedly and incoherently. But to Nattie's
surprise, instead of entering, he darted away in such a tremendous hurry
that he stumbled and fell, and she distinctly heard his skull bang
against his own door.
But his last words were too ominous, and she was too well acquainted
with his peculiarities to flatter herself she was permanently relieved
of his company. He had perhaps gone to brush his hair, or take some
quieting drops, but she knew he had certainly not gone to stay, and not
being exactly in the humor for his company, Nattie resolved to fly
ignominiously. Afraid of returning to her own room, lest she might meet
him and be taken captive, she quietly retired into Cyn's bed-room. In a
few moments she heard him stumbling over a stool in the parlor, and was
just thinking that if he should take it into his head to remain any
length of time, she would be in rather a predicament, when to her
surprise she heard him say,
"I--I must speak! I--I hope this time I shall remember what I have so
often--so often said in the privacy of my own apartment, to--if I may
confess it--to a pillow--a pair of pants and a coat--placed in a chair
as a poor effigy of--of you, you know. Will you--will you--don't speak,
but let me alone, hear me and let the--the flow of language come!"
He paused, and in the greatest bewilderment, Nattie stared at the
opposite wall. Did he by some powerful intuition discern she was within
hearing distance, or was he in his disappointment rehearsing to her
empty chair? Before Nattie could decide between these two solutions of
his conduct, another voice, the voice of Celeste, said faintly and
affectedly,
"Oh, Quimby"
And then Nattie comprehended the situation. After her own retreat,
Celeste had entered and taken the just vacated chair. It was twilight.
Celeste wore a black dress like hers, her hair was dressed in the same
style, and was the same color, and Quimby had mistaken her for Nattie!
And in his excitement and struggle with that "flow of language," he did
not notice even that it was not Nattie's voice saying "Oh, Quimby!" for
he continued,
"I--I--you may reject me--I am afraid you will, but I must say it, you
know. I must, or I shall--I shall explode and fly into atoms!"
Here Celeste gave a little scream, but he went on determinedly, making
the most of his "glorious opportunity."
"I--I am not like other fellows, you know! that is, I mean I have not
the--the brass, if I may so express myself, and I am always doing
something wrong--but I am used to it, you know--the question is, could
you get used to it? for I have a heart that is--that is honest, and that
beats all full of love--of--love for--you know who I mean!"
There was a murmured "oh!" from Celeste, as Quimby paused to wipe from
his brow the perspiration called forth by his arduous undertaking.
"What shall I do!" frantically thought the perplexed listener, divided
between the ludicrous part of the affair, and her desire to save him
from the dilemma into which he was rushing; "what _can_ I do? oh! if Cyn
would only come!"
But Cyn came not, and while Nattie paused, irresolute, and not knowing
what course to take, Quimby went on to his fate.
"I have thought, sometimes, that you liked some other fellow--Clem, I
mean--" Nattie felt herself blush in the darkness--"but I do hope not!
the thought has made me boil in secret often, and he loves Cyn, you
know--" Nattie's color left her face as quickly as it had come--"but
oh!" and he went down on to his knees with a whack that made the vases
on the mantel jingle. "Let me tell you what I tried twice before to say,
what is always in my thoughts! I--I adore you! the ground you walk on!
and have, ever since I first saw your nose! I--I beg pardon, but I fell
in love with your nose! and will you--can you tell me that you don't
love any other fellow--Clem, I mean--and share my little property, and
be--be Mrs. Quimby, you know!"
"Ah! really I--such a trying moment!--but dear, _dear_ Quimby, I never
cared for Clem, never only for you--and I am yours!"
With these words, Celeste precipitated herself into his arms, and the
next moment Nattie heard a crash as they both fell on the floor. The
sudden shock of recognition that then burst upon him, weakened him to
such an extent that he could not support himself, much less her, so down
they went!
"He must know who it is now!" thought Nattie, with a sigh of relief.
And meanwhile Celeste had picked herself up, but Quimby still remained
flat on the floor, bracing himself up by his hands on either side, and
staring at her, motionless. Fortunately it was too dark for her to see
the expression of his face.
"Did you hurt yourself?" asked Celeste at length. "Let me help you up!
We are to help each other now, you know."
Quimby groaned.
"Oh, misery!" he gasped. "This--my destiny is too much for me! Oh! the
evil deeds of darkness! Listen to me, I implore you! It is all a
mistake! I thought--"
"Of course it was a mistake! You did not suppose I thought you fell
purposely, did you, dear?" quickly interrupted Celeste, blindly or
willfully misunderstanding--who shall say which? "But please get up, Cyn
may come."
At this Quimby scrambled to his feet with startling suddenness, and
exclaiming hastily,
"I will--I will write and tell you all--_all!_ I have an engagement now
with a friend just around the corner!" he rushed from the room, and
would have flown, but the pertinacious Celeste had followed, and just as
he reached the outside hall, regardless of the publicity, flung herself
around his neck, this time without bringing him to the ground.
"It is not necessary to write!" she cried. "Pray, do not take such a
trifle so much to heart. Remember I am yours, and--"
Another voice from the stairs just above the pair, interrupted her. It
was the voice of Fishblate _pere_, and it said,
"Hugging! Marry her!"
"I--I--will!" wailed the now alarmed Quimby, as Celeste blushingly
withdrew from her embrace of him. "I--I will see you to-morrow if I--if
I live!" and striking his forehead with his hand, he burst away, bounded
frantically down the stairs and fled, ejaculating,
"I knew it! I had a presentiment from my youth!"
"Excuse his eccentricity, Pa!" Celeste said. "He loves me _so_ much, poor
fellow!"
"Humph! Get enough of _that!_" he growled, with contempt.
"And he has a nice little property!" added Celeste, as they went up
stairs.
"Property is the thing!" Fishblate _pere_ said, with undisguised
plainness.
Nattie emerged from her retreat on the hasty exit of Quimby and Celeste,
so full of regret for the flight that had proved so disastrous to him,
that the ludicrous part of the scene just enacted was forgotten.
"Poor Quimby!" she thought, remorsefully. "What a dreadful fix he is in!
I hope he will get out of it; and I am so sorry for my share in it! How
strange it would be if he should, as he once said, marry the wrong
woman, after all!"