Jack Bang has saved my life and I hate him! How I hate him! I know now
the meaning of “a consuming hate.” My heart seems of lead. I am
frightened because I hate him so much.
Charlie Lien was taking me down the toboggan slide when it happened.
Mrs. Lien and Mrs. Mount were there, each with a cavalier; and Mumsie
with Mr. Bang. Charlie and I had reached the head of the stairs and had
placed our toboggan ready and I had just seated myself. Mrs. Mount was
next in turn and was talking to Charlie.
“Do you know, really, Mr. Lien, I think you are the nicest young man I
ever met. You are such a good sport, and so good to everybody, even if
they don’t amount to anything ———”
At this point I felt the toboggan move, and a moment after a number of
shrieks, and then a great thump behind and then—a hundred sensations.
The toboggan skidded this way and that, first on one side of the slide
and then on the other, till it settled down to its arrow-like course, by
which time I was exhausted through fright. To fortify myself I put my
arm behind me and with it encircled what I thought was the head of
Charlie Lien, murmuring, “Oh, Charlie, oh! Charlie.”
Imagine my feelings when I found I had the head of Mr. Bang. At the
moment I would willingly have severed my right hand to have retrieved my
mishap. Oh! oh! how can I express my mortification? No words of mine can
tell.
I suppose Mumsie, and Uncle, and other old-fashioned people would say
that it was noble of Mr. Bang to say “It was nothing,” and to ignore the
fact that I had put my arm about his neck and called him Charlie. If he
had only appeared one whit more self-satisfied after the occurrence, I
believe I could almost love him. But, possibly, for him to feel more
self-satisfied than he does is beyond his capacity. And then if he had
only smiled even cynically when our eyes met at the bottom of the slide,
I could forgive him much—the beast!
It all happened through that wretched woman, Mrs. Mount, who wants him
for a son-in-law, trying to win him, I know. Charlie let go the handles
of the toboggan just a moment to look at this audacious creature when
the toboggan slid off. Of course, without its steersman it would have
run over the side of the run-way and I would have been killed. But Mr.
Bang, who was watching everything as usual, made a spring as I passed
him and landed, where Charlie should have been, behind me. He certainly
did well after he gained the steersman’s seat. Had he been unable to
steady the toboggan and we had both gone over the run-way, we would have
been killed—wouldn’t we?
Of course, it broke up the tobogganning for the morning. Everybody
crowded round us. Mumsie was almost as white as the snow when she came
up. Mrs. Lien was most sympathetic. Others said nice things and then
Mrs. Mount, having reserved her fire until the last, said: “Oh! Miss
Travers, it was all so melographic. We shall expect a romance to grow
out of this, shan’t we, Mrs. Somers?”
I was so angry I nearly fainted through the effort I made in restraining
myself. Of course, too, I had no fitting retort ready. It would be so
nice if we would only have a stock of retorts ready for use on
emergency. And I don’t believe there is any such word as melographic.
I know Mrs. Mount wants Charlie Lien for her Doris, and this knowledge
came through a conversation I heard last night. Norway House has
wonderful acoustic properties. Sounds come from everywhere, anywhere,
and last night as I lay in bed, I heard the following:
“But, Mother, the Travers girl is quite good-looking, and I don’t see
why Charlie Lien should not marry her.”
“Doris,” came Mrs. Mount’s voice in the severest tones, “You must not
contradict your mother. I say the Travers girl is not nearly as
good-looking as you are—you who are all grace and beautiful as a
cowslip in the morning dew—”
“Oh, Mother!”
“Now, don’t contradict—”
“But, Mother, Charlie has had Miss Travers to lunch at the Hunt Club,
and they’ve been seen together several times.”
“Now, now, Doris, you should know young men will be young men. But it’s
time Charlie Lien began to look around serious-like—”
“But why should he fancy me?”
“That’s it, that’s it, that’s why I want you to put your best foot
forward, don’t you know, really———”
“But Mother, if Mrs. Somers did not think there was something in the
affair between Charlie and Miss Travers———”
“Now, Doris, I don’t want any more back answerings. To show I ain’t a
fool, I may tell you that I’ve sounded Mrs. Somers and have found out
it’s the big fellow who has put up the coin, so now! It’s all very
plain—”
“But Mother, Mr. Bang is not paying Miss Travers any attention.”
“Now, Doris, I have told you already I don’t want any back answerings.
You’re my daughter, and I want to see you well married. When I’m dying I
don’t want to be thinking of you sitting round a boarding-house about
the time you should be a grandmother.”
“There’s lots of time, Mother.”
“There ain’t lots of time, and you know it. Don’t you know, really,
there ain’t a Charlie Lien to be picked up every day.”
“But, Mother, I can’t pick him—”
“Doris,” the mother’s voice was rising in anger, “what did I say about
back answerings?”
“Well, Mother, do please give me time to think. Assuming Charlie is
having a harmless flirtation—”
“Harmless flirtation, indeed, with a hussy that has no money, and no
good clothes to set off what few good looks she has got—”
At this point I heard a door slam. Evidently Doris had left her mamma
whose voice was getting coarser every second the controversy continued.
“Hussy indeed!” I thought. Her Doris! Bah! But how in the name of
fortune did Doris learn of my doings with Charlie Lien. Of course, no
mention was made of the Palm-room, which is a comfort. And how coarse
the mother’s voice became as it gained in heat. Her “ain’ts” and her
“back answerings”—Oh! to think of my having toadied to her! I painted
her picture at my age, a buxom slattern, that is what she was, a
slattern, the butt of every jolly cavalier who felt a budding wit; bare
feet, possibly, and dirty petticoats, tattered and torn! And her home,
the tavern at the dusty corner, the long intervals between the coming
and going of guests; the wild acclaim, the shouted jest, the latest news
from the seat of war, political, or otherwise.
And to think that I, Elsie Travers, toadied to her!
The conversation I have recorded I heard on Sunday night. Of course,
there has been nothing else to record—beyond the fact that we travelled
by the same train as the Mounts.
And now to return to the thread of my narrative. After the first flutter
of excitement and Mrs. Mount’s stab at matchmaking, I had a fit of
nerves and went to my room. I had my lunch sent to me; I wished to
think. And I thought and thought; and then I realized that all my effort
could not hit upon a line of action. What to do? Would that a fairy
would speak!
But a demon spoke—a demon, a hell-cat’s words with the philosophy of
Satan!
Shortly after lunch I heard the Mounts at it again.
“I’m sure she’ll never marry him now. What girl would marry a man who
would imperil her life so?”
“What do you know of diplomacy? Will you answer me that now, you who was
so fond of back answering last night?”
“I—”
“I tell you, you know nothing. The girl’s gone to bed, and her no more
scared than you be.”
“But, Mother, her nerves—”
“Her nerves, her nothing, all bunkum! She’s gone to bed to ketch him.
She’s going to ketch him if you don’t look out. That’s what I’m
frightened of.”
“But how?”
“How—how—how? Don’t you know how the chorus girls ketch the lordlings?
Why, keep him at a distance, you bet. I’ll tell you she’s no fool, that
girl is no fool. That fledgling is a wise bird, as wise as the
‘chicken[5] wid de big eye.’”
“Will keeping a lordling at a distance catch him?”
“Ketch him? Certainly, didn’t I say so before. Keep him chasing,
chasing, chasing and never satisfy him until he pops.”
“Pops, Mother?”
“Pops the question, of course. Now mark my words, see if the hussy does
not pout, squirm, and lally gag; make out she’s mortal offended and play
him to a finish. That is, she would do it if she knew enough—”
Of course, I could not see Mrs. Mount as she spoke; but her voice—her
words and expression were totally different from what she used in
society. But her words gave a stimulus to my thoughts. I was very angry.
To be called a “hussy.” And the slurs the women made against me! I hated
her for it, even more than I hated Jack. And so I thought again. And
then I reached a decision. I would fulfil Mrs. Mount’s prophecy. I would
repulse Charlie Lien and flirt with Jack Bang. But I would revenge
myself on both the woman and the man, I mean Charlie Lien. If Charlie
proposes to me I shall say “NO.” So bids the spirit of my ancestors.
I appeared at dinner and was the sensation of the moment. I smiled, oh
so sweetly, on Mr. Bang, and after dinner settled down to a book at the
side of Mumsie in the fireside circle. Mrs. Lien and Mumsie fell to
talking. Out of the vast amount of small talk that I heard, the
following remains in my memory:
“Do you know, Mrs. Somers, my cook absolutely refused to cook a dinner
if Lady Billings was to be a guest. I reasoned with her—it was no use.
‘Mrs. Lien,’ said she, ‘I refuse to cook a dinner for Molly Fenton.’
‘But, Kate,’ I pleaded, ‘I don’t ask you to serve it. All I ask you to
do is to cook it.’ ‘I don’t care,’ she answered. ‘I’ll walk out of your
house before I’ll cook a dinner for Molly Fenton, even if she now is
Lady Billings. When we were children together, Mother would not allow me
to play with her, and I won’t cook a dinner for her now.’”
[5] An Italian navvy once shot and ate an owl, and when he was asked
what he had eaten, he replied: “De chicken wid de big eye.”