ON THE RAILROAD TRACK
Mr. Rat Connors superintended the arrangement of the car. The
Honorable Alexander was requested to take the wheel, and the lady to
sit at his side. Mr. Connors disposed himself in the tonneau, from
which vantage-point he issued orders after the fashion of an Admiral
from the bridge of his flag-ship.
Two hundred yards from the railroad track Mr. Connors gave the word to
halt.
Having disembarked, he marshalled his cavalcade in what he deemed the
most advisable formation.
“Let de lady go foist,” he suggested. “Dat’s de perlite system.” As
they took the indicated order of precedence Mr. Connors added, “An’
den if yer makes a break, I won’t haf ter shoot t’rough de lady ter
git yer, see?”
While they were picking their way through a bit of woods the Honorable
Alexander Hamilton Burrow was moved to speech.
“You see, Miss Asheton—Mary—I may call you Mary, mayn’t I? Life is
full of chances. You need a protector. You had better reconsider and
give me the right to act always——”
But Miss Asheton interrupted him with a clear peal of laughter.
Despite the guard at the rear, she halted in her tracks.
“Certainly you may call me Mary,” she said, “and you may protect me,
too. Protect me now. Take the gun away from this person.”
The halting of Miss Asheton forced the Honorable Alexander to halt,
and the halting of the Honorable Alexander brought the cold muzzle of
the revolver against the back of his neck.
“Move on dere!” ordered Mr. Connors. “Cut out de chin-music an’ keep
hikin’!”
The march was resumed.
“Of course,” said Mr. Burrow, in a less jaunty voice, “there are times
when we are at a disadvantage. The protection I alluded to——”
“Cut it out!” suggested Mr. Connors. “Less of dat comedy! Less of it!”
Mr. Burrow fell silent. To have one’s tenderest declarations
pronounced comedy by a critic one is not at liberty to contradict, is
disconcerting.
Then they came to the embankment and were instructed to climb up. On
the railroad track they saw three men. One was an elderly gentleman in
rusty clerical garb. One was a tall man of a younger generation, but
the salient feature of the situation was that between them they
supported a third person. Despite mud-smeared clothes and demoralized
personal appearance, this third person was clearly recognizable to
bride-elect and best man as Mr. Lewis Copewell.
Mr. Lewis Copewell raised his head and saw standing at the edge of the
embankment a rare and radiant maiden whom mortals called Mary Asheton.
For an hour Mr. Lewis Copewell had been demanding of the smoldering
logs whether he should ever again clasp this rare and radiant maiden.
It was upon this reverie that the Minister and his son, the Justice of
the Peace, had arrived. And now—miracle of miracles!—there seemed to
stand the lady in the flesh!
He tore himself from the supporting arms of the minister and the
justice of the peace with an inarticulate roar. Then he proceeded to
hop on one foot across the track, to find out whether this were a true
vision or merely a brain mirage.
Miss Mary Asheton took a swift inventory of his injuries and went to
meet him. Miss Mary Asheton did not have to hop, and a man can stand
quite well on one foot when he has both arms around the only girl in
the world. If you don’t believe it, try it.
It dawned quite suddenly on the Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow
that the party was quite complete. Bride, groom, best man, minister,
witness and—how should he classify Mr. Connors? He swept a
comprehensive glance about—but there was no Mr. Connors. Mr. Connors
had vanished into the night as suddenly as he had arisen out of the
night. He had played his part and passed.
In point of fact, Mr. Connors was looking on from the shadow of a
not-too-distant sycamore. Sitting at the foot of this sycamore he drew
from one pocket the gold timepiece that had formerly reposed in the
pocket of Mr. Lewis Copewell. Then he abstracted from another pocket
the watch that had been, until a short time ago, worn by the Honorable
Alexander Hamilton Burrow. Then he affectionately patted the rolls of
greenbacks in his breast pocket.
“Oh, dat ain’t so bad!” he optimistically told himself.
For a moment there was silence on the railroad track. Then Mr.
Copewell, feeling quite assured that the vision was genuine, managed
to say, “_Mary!_”
Miss Asheton said, “_Lewis!_”
The Honorable Alexander Hamilton Burrow, thinking of nothing witty or
timely to say, touched the minister on the arm and began feeling in
his pockets for the marriage license.
[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the September 1911
issue of Adventure magazine.]