IN HONOR OF MISS SPENCER
Mr. Jack Moffat, president of the Bachelor Miners' Pleasure Club, had
embraced the idea of a reception for Miss Spencer with unbounded
enthusiasm. Indeed, the earliest conception of such an event found
birth within his fertile brain, and from the first he determined upon
making it the most notable social function ever known in that portion
of the Territory.
Heretofore the pastime of the Bachelors' Club had been largely
bibulous, and the members thereof had exhibited small inclination to
seek the ordinary methods of social relaxation as practised in
Glencaid. Pink teas, or indeed teas of any conceivable color, had
never proved sufficiently attractive to wean the members from the
chaste precincts of the Occidental or the Miners' Retreat, while the
mysterious pleasure of "Hunt the Slipper" and "Spat in and Spat out"
had likewise utterly failed to inveigle them from retirement. But Mr.
Moffat's example wrought an immediate miracle, so that, long before the
fateful hour arrived, every registered bachelor was laboring
industriously to make good the proud boast of their enthusiastic
president, that this was going to be "the swellest affair ever pulled
off west of the Missouri."
The large space above the Occidental was secured for the occasion, the
obstructing subdivisions knocked away, an entrance constructed with an
outside stairway leading up from a vacant lot, and the passage
connecting the saloon boarded up. Incidentally, Mr. Moffat took
occasion to announce that if "any snoozer got drunk and came up them
stairs" he would be thrown bodily out of a window. Mr. McNeil, who was
observing the preliminary proceedings with deep interest from a pile of
lumber opposite, sarcastically intimated that under such circumstances
the attendance of club members would be necessarily limited. Mr.
Moffat's reply it is manifestly impossible to quote literally. Mrs.
Guffy was employed to provide the requisite refreshments in the
palatial dining-hall of the hotel, while Buck Mason, the vigilant town
marshal, popularly supposed to know intimately the face of every
"rounder" in the Territory, agreed to collect the cards of invitation
at the door, and bar out obnoxious visitors.
These preliminaries having been duly attended to, Mr. Moffat and his
indefatigable committee of arrangements proceeded to master the details
of decoration and entertainment, drawing heavily upon the limited
resources of the local merchants, and even invading private homes in
search after beautifying material. Jim Lane drove his buckboard one
hundred and sixty miles to Cheyenne to gather up certain needed
articles of adornment, the selection of which could not be safely
confided to the inartistic taste of the stage-driver. Upon his rapid
return journey loaded down with spoils, Peg Brace, a cow-puncher in the
"Bar O" gang, rode recklessly alongside his speeding wheels for the
greater portion of the distance, apparently in most jovial humor, and
so unusually inquisitive as to make Mr. Lane, as he later expressed it,
"plum tired." The persistent rider finally deserted him, however, at
the ford over the Sinsiniwa, shouting derisively back from a safe
distance that the Miners' Club was a lot of chumps, and promising them
a severe "jolt" in the near future.
Indeed, it was becoming more and more apparent that a decided feeling
of hostility was fast developing between the respective partisans of
Moffat and McNeil. Thus far the feud merely smouldered, finding
occasional expression in sarcastic speech, and the severance of former
friendly relations, but it boded more serious trouble for the near
future. To a loyal henchman, Moffat merely condescended to remark,
glancing disdainfully at a knot of hard riders disconsolately sitting
their ponies in front of the saloon door, "We 've got them fellers
roped and tied, gents, and they simply won't be ace-high with the
ladies of this camp after our fandango is over with. We're a holdin'
the hand this game, an' it simply sweeps the board clean. That duffer
McNeil's the sickest looking duck I 've seen in a year, an' the whole
blame bunch of cow-punchers is corralled so tight there can't a steer
among 'em get a nose over the pickets."
He glanced over the waiting scene of festivities with intense
satisfaction. From bare squalor the spacious apartment had been
converted into a scene of almost gorgeous splendor. The waxed floor
was a perfect marvel of smoothness; the numerous windows had been
heavily draped in red, white, and blue hangings; festoons of the same
rich hues hung gracefully suspended from the ceiling, trembling to the
least current of air; oil lamps, upheld by almost invisible wires,
dangled in profusion; while within the far corner, occupying a slightly
raised platform later to be utilized by the orchestra, was an imposing
pulpit chair lent by the Presbyterian Church, resting upon a rug of
skins, and destined as the seat of honor for the fair guest of the
evening. Moffat surveyed all this thoughtfully, and proceeded proudly
to the hotel to don a "boiled" shirt, and in other ways prepare himself
to do honor to his exalted office. Much to the surprise of McNeil,
lounging with some cronies on the shaded porch, he nodded to him
genially, adding a hearty, "Hello there, Bill," as he passed carelessly
by.
The invited guests arrived from the sparsely settled regions round
about, not a few riding for a hundred miles over the hard trails. The
majority came early, arrayed in whatsoever apparel their limited
wardrobes could supply, but ready for any wild frolic. The men
outnumbered the gentler sex five to one, but every feminine
representative within a radius of about fifty miles, whose
respectability could possibly pass muster before the investigations of
a not too critical invitation committee, was present amid the throng,
attired in all the finery procurable, and supremely and serenely happy
in the assured consciousness that she would not lack partners whenever
the enticing music began.
The gratified president of the Pleasure Club had occasion to expand his
chest with just pride. Jauntily twirling his silky mustaches, he
pushed his way through the jostling, good-natured crowd already surging
toward the entrance of the hall, and stepped briskly forth along the
moonlit road toward the Herndon home, where the fair queen of the
revels awaited his promised escort. It was his hour of supreme
triumph, and his head swam with the delicious intoxication of
well-earned success, the plaudits of his admirers, and the fond
anticipation of Miss Spencer's undoubted surprise and gratitude. His,
therefore, was the step and bearing of a conqueror, of one whose cup
was already filled to the brim, and running over with the joy of life.
The delay incident to the completion of an elaborate toilet, together
with the seductive charms of a stroll through the moon-haunted night
beneath the spell of bright eyes and whispered words, resulted in a
later arrival at the scene of festivities than had been intended. The
great majority of the expected guests had already assembled, and were
becoming somewhat restless. No favored courtier ever escorted beloved
queen with greater pride or ceremony than that with which Mr. Moffat
led his blushing charge through the throng toward her chair of state.
The murmuring voices, the admiring eyes, the hush of expectancy, all
contributed to warm the cockles of his heart and to color his face with
the glow of victory. Glancing at his companion, he saw her cheeks
flushed, her head held proudly poised, her countenance evidencing the
enjoyment of the moment, and he felt amply rewarded for the work which
had produced so glorious a result. A moment he bent above her chair,
whispering one last word of compliment into the little ear which
reddened at his bold speech, and feasting his ardent eyes upon the
flushed and animated countenance. The impatient crowd wondered at the
nature of the coming ceremony, and Mr. Moffat strove to recall the
opening words of his introductory address.
Suddenly his gaze settled upon one face amid the throng. A moment of
hesitation followed; then a quick whisper of excuse to the waiting
divinity in the chair, and the perturbed president pressed his way
toward the door. Buck Mason stood there on guard, carelessly leaning
against the post, his star of office gleaming beneath the light.
"Buck," exclaimed Moffat, "how did that feller McNeil, and those other
cow-punchers, get in here? You had your orders."
Mason turned his quid deliberately and spat at the open door. "You bet
I did, Jack," he responded cheerfully, yet with a trifle of
exasperation evident in his eyes. "And what's more, I reckon they was
obeyed. There ain't nobody got in yere ternight without they had a
cyard."
"Well, there has"; and Moffat forgot his natural caution in a sudden
excess of anger. "No invitations was sent them fellers. Do you mean
to say they come in through the roof?"
Mason straightened up, his face darkening, his clinched fist thrashing
the air just in front of Moffat's nose.
"I say they come in yere, right through this door! An' every mother's
son of 'em, hed a cyard. I know what I 'm a-talkin' about, you
miserable third-class idiot, an' if you give me any more of your lip I
'll paste you good an' proper. Go back thar whar you belong, an' tind
to your part of this fandango; I'm a runnin' mine."
Moffat hesitated, his brow black as a thunder cloud, but the crowd was
manifestly growing restless over the delay, calling "Time!" and "Play
ball!" and stamping their feet. Besides, Buck was never known to be
averse to a quarrel, and Moffat's bump of caution was well developed.
He went back, nursing his wrath and cursing silently. The crowd
greeted his reappearance with prolonged applause, and some of the
former consciousness of victory returned. He glanced down into the
questioning eyes of Miss Spencer, cleared his throat, then grasped her
hand, and, as they stood there together, all his confidence came
surging back.
"Ladies and Gentlemen of Glencaid," he began gracefully, "as president
of the Bachelor Miners' Pleasure Club, it affords me extreme
gratification to welcome you to this the most important social event
ever pulled off in this Territory. It's going to be a swell affair
from the crack of the starter's pistol to the last post, and you can
bet on getting your money's worth every time. That's the sort of
hairpins we are--all wool and a yard wide. Now, ladies and gents,
while it is not designed that the pleasure of this evening be marred by
any special formalities, any such unnatural restrictions as disfigure
such functions in the effete East [applause], and while I am only too
anxious to exclaim with the poet, 'On with the dance, let joy be
unconfined' [great applause], yet it must be remembered that this
high-toned outfit has been got up for a special, definite purpose, as a
fit welcome to one who has come among us with the high and holy object
of instructing our offspring and elevating the educational ideals of
this community. We, of this Bachelors' Club, may possess no offspring
to instruct, but we sympathize with them others who have, and desire to
show our interest in the work. We have here with us to-night one of
the loveliest of her sex, a flower of refinement and culture plucked
from the Eastern hills, who, at the stern call of duty, has left her
home and friends to devote her talents to this labor of love. In her
honor we meet, in her honor this room has been decorated with the
colors of our beloved country, and to her honor we now dedicate the
fleeting hours of this festal night. It is impossible for her to greet
you all personally, much as she wishes to do so, but as president of
the Bachelor Miners' Pleasure Club, and also," with a deep bow to his
blushing and embarrassed companion, "I may venture to add, as an
intimate friend of our fair guest, I now introduce to you Glencaid's
new schoolmistress--Miss Phoebe Spencer. Hip! Hip! _Hurrah_!"
Swinging his hand high above his head, the enthusiastic orator led the
noisy cheers which instantly burst forth in unrestrained volume; and
before which Miss Spencer shrank back into her chair, trembling, yet
strangely happy. Good humor swayed that crowd, laughter rippled from
parted lips, while voices here and there began a spontaneous demand for
a speech. Miss Spencer shook her flossy head helplessly, feeling too
deeply agitated to utter a word; and Moffat, now oblivious to
everything but the important part he was playing in the brilliant
spectacle, stepped before her, waving the clamorous assembly into
temporary and expectant silence.
"Our charming guest," he announced, in tones vibrant with authority,
"is so deeply affected by this spontaneous outpouring of your good-will
as to be unable to respond in words. Let us respect her natural
embarrassment; let us now exhibit that proud Western chivalry which
will cause her to feel perfectly at home in our midst. The orchestra
will strike up, and amid the mazy whirling of the dance we will at once
sink all formality, as becomes citizens of this free and boundless
West, this land of gold, of sterling manhood, and womanly beauty. To
slightly change the poet's lines, written of a similar occasion:
"There was a sound of revelry by night,
And proud Glencaid had gathered then
Her beauty and her chivalry, and bright
The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men.
"So, scatter out, gents, and pick up your partners for the first whirl.
This is our turn to treat, and our motto is 'Darn the expense.'"
He bent over, purposing to lead the lady of his heart forth to the
earliest strains of the violins, his genial smile evidencing his
satisfaction.
"Say,--eh--just hold on--eh--a minute!"
Moffat wheeled about, a look of amazement replacing his previous jovial
smile. His eyes hardened dangerously as they encountered the face of
McNeil. The latter was white about the lips, but primed for action,
and not inclined to waste time in preliminaries.
"Look here, this ain't your time to butt in--" began Moffat, angrily,
but the other waved his hand.
"Say, gents,--eh--that feller had his spiel all right--eh--ain't he?
He wants to be--eh--the whole hog, but--eh,--I reckon this is
a--eh--free country, ain't it? Don't I have--eh--no show?"
"Go on, Bill!"
"Of course you do."
"Make Jack Moffat shut up!"
The justly indignant president of the Bachelors' Club remained
motionless, his mouth still open, struggling to restrain those caustic
and profane remarks which, in that presence, he dare not utter. He
instinctively flung one hand back to his hip, only to remember that all
guns had been left at the door. McNeil eyed him calmly, as he might
eye a chained bear, his lips parted in a genial smile.
"I--eh--ain't no great shakes of an--eh--orator," he began,
apologetically, waving one hand toward his gasping rival, "like
Mr.--eh--Moffat. I can't sling words round--eh--reckless, like
the--eh--gent what just had the floor, ner--eh--spout poetry, but I
reckon--eh--I kin git out--eh--'bout what I got to say. Mr. Moffat
has--eh--told you what the--eh--Bachelor Miners' Club--eh--has been
a-doin'. He--eh--spread it on pretty blame thick, but--eh--I reckon
they ain't--eh--all of 'em miners round this yere--eh--camp. As
the--eh--president of the--eh--Cattlemen's Shakespearian--eh--Reading
Circle, I am asked to present to--eh--Miss Spencer a slight
token--eh--of our esteem, and--eh--to express our pleasure
at--eh--being permitted," he bowed to the choking Mr. Moffat, "eh--to
participate in this--eh--most glorious occasion."
He stepped forward, and dropped into Miss Spencer's lap a small
plush-covered box. Her fingers pressed the spring, and, as the lid
flew open, the brilliant flash of a diamond dazzled her eyes. She sat
staring at it, unable for the moment to find speech. Then the
assemblage burst into an unrestrained murmur of admiration, and the
sound served to arouse her.
"Oh, how beautiful it all is!" she exclaimed, rapturously. "I hardly
know what to say, or whom to thank. I never heard of anything so
perfectly splendid before. It makes me cry just to remember that it is
all done for me. Oh, Mr. Moffat, I want to thank, through you, the
gentlemen of the Bachelors' Club for this magnificent reception. I
know I do not deserve it, but it makes me so proud to realize the
interest you all take in my work. And, Mr. McNeil, I beg you to return
my gratitude to the gentlemen of the--the (oh, thank you)--the
Cattlemen's Shakespearian Reading Circle (how very nice of you to have
such an organization for the study of higher literature!) for this
superb gift. I shall never forget this night, or what it has brought
me, and I simply cannot express my real feelings at all; I--I don't
know what to say, or--or what to do."
She paused, burying her face in her hands, her body shaken with sobs.
Moffat, scarcely knowing whether to swear or smile, hastily signalled
for the waiting musicians to begin. As they swung merrily into waltz
measure he stepped forward, fully confident of his first claim for that
opening dance, and vaguely conscious that, once upon the floor with
her, he might thus regain his old leadership. Miss Spencer glanced up
at him through her tears.
"I--I really feel scarcely equal to the attempt," she murmured
nervously, yet rising to her feet. Then a new thought seemed suddenly
to occur to her. "Oh, Mr. Moffat, I have been so highly favored, and I
am so extremely anxious to do everything I can to show my gratitude. I
know it is requesting so much of you to ask your relinquishment of this
first dance with me to-night. As president of the Bachelors' Club it
is your right, of course, but don't you truly think I ought to give it
to Mr. McNeil? We were together all the way from the house, you know,
and we had such a delightful walk. You wouldn't truly mind yielding up
your claim for just this once, would you?"
Moffat did not reply, simply because he could not; he was struck dumb,
gasping for breath, the room whirling around before him, while he
stared at her with dazed, unseeing eyes. His very helplessness to
respond she naturally interpreted as acquiescence.
"It is so good of you, Mr. Moffat, for I realize how you were counting
upon this first dance, were n't you? But Mr. McNeil being here as the
guest of your club, I think it is perfectly beautiful of you to waive
your own rights as president, so as to acknowledge his unexpected
contribution to the joy of our evening." She touched him playfully
with her hand, the other resting lightly upon McNeil's sleeve, her
innocent, happy face upturned to his dazed eyes. "But remember, the
next turn is to be yours, and I shall never forget this act of
chivalry."
It is doubtful if he saw her depart, for the entire room was merely an
indistinct blur. He was too desperately angry even to swear. In this
emergency, Mr. Wynkoop, dimly realizing that something unpleasant had
occurred, sought to attract the attention of his new parishioner along
happier lines.
"How exceedingly strange it is, Mr. Moffat," he ventured, "that beings
otherwise rational, and possessing souls destined for eternity, can
actually appear to extract pleasure from such senseless exercises? I
do not in the least blame Miss Spencer, for she is yet young, and
probably thoughtless about such matters, as the youthful are wont to
be, but I am, indeed, rejoiced to note that you do not dance."
Moffat wheeled upon him, his teeth grinding savagely together. "Shut
up!" he snapped, fiercely, and shaking off the pastor's gently
restraining fingers, shouldered his passage through the crowd toward
the door.