It had been planned that they would all take the morning train together
for North Adams, Gloria and Ruth, Terry and Prince Aglipogue and George,
but Gloria, despite her motion picture experience, proved unequal to the
early rising.
“It’s no use,” she explained to Ruth, who went to her room to wake her.
“I simply can’t get up this early in the morning. You go on and meet
Aggie and Terry at the station and tell them that I’m coming up on the
sleeper tonight. Tell George to go along, too, just as he planned. He’s
got his ticket and will take care of your luggage and the others’, and
everything will go just as we planned it except that I’ll show up
tomorrow morning.”
“Suppose there isn’t any sleeping train?”
“There will be; anyway as far as Pittsfield. Do go down and tell George
and explain to Angela when you get there.”
What the trip would have been had Gloria not decided to wait for the
night train, Ruth could not guess. What it was was most unexpected.
George, being first told, was the first person to show sulky displeasure
at Gloria’s decision. For a moment Ruth thought that he was actually
going to knock on Gloria’s door and remonstrate with her, but even
George dared not do that, so instead he preceded Ruth to the station,
heavily laden with boxes and bags. He was there when she arrived, as was
also Terry, who laughed without any apparent regret at Gloria’s revolt.
“I rather hated to get up myself,” he said, “but a holiday is a holiday,
and it’s part of the game to climb out of bed from one to ten hours
earlier than usual. Besides, think how tired we’ll be tonight and what
wonderful sleep we’ll get up there in the fresh air. There’ll be lots of
snow, too. A few flakes fell here this morning, and that means that up
in the mountains it will be thick and wonderful. I only hope it won’t be
too cold.”
“Here comes Prince Aglipogue,” said Ruth.
The Prince was approaching, his great bulk thrusting aside the lesser
human atoms in the station. Ruth was amazed to see that his curious
travelling costume was finished by a top hat and wondered whether he
would wear it in the train and in the sleigh from North Adams. Over the
collar of his fur-lined overcoat his huge face rose, placid and
self-satisfied, until he spied the waiting group with Gloria not among
them.
“Has she not yet come?” he asked. “The time of the train is immediate;
we will miss it.”
“Gloria has decided to take the evening train,” said Terry.
“Then I also will wait.”
“No, she especially asked that we all go ahead just as planned. Here’s
George to take care of everything,” said Ruth.
“Did she send to me no personal message?”
“No; just that,” Ruth took pleasure in watching his face, like a
cloud-flecked moon, in its annoyance. “We were all to go ahead and
explain to Mrs. Peyton-Russell that Gloria will arrive in the morning.”
Just then the gate was opened and Prince Aglipogue, still frowning,
followed them reluctantly through it, in front of George and the two
porters, who were helping him carry travelling bags.
When they were all comfortably disposed in their seats Ruth began to
fear that it would be rather an unpleasant journey, for Prince
Aglipogue, unhappy himself, was determined that the others should be,
too, if he could make them so.
Only the amused light in Terry’s eyes gave her courage. Prince Aglipogue
began with a monologue about rotten trains, stupid country houses,
beastly cold and the improbability of Gloria’s coming at all, and
finally worked himself up into a state of agitation bordering on tears,
which would have made Ruth laugh had she not been afraid.
“It is unkind of her to leave us this way. For herself she sleeps
comfortably at home, while I rise at this unchristian hour for her
sake,” he protested, more to himself than to the others, for he seemed
determined to ignore them. His next phase was one of annoyance at his
own discomfort.
Why had not the Peyton-Russells themselves provided a drawing-room for
him? They were “filthy” with money, and he was not accustomed to
travelling in this public manner in spite of the fact that he was only a
poor artist. Then he became worried about his luggage, which had
consisted of a single dressing-case. He had entrusted it to George, and
who knew what had become of it? He lurched off in search of George some
place in the rear cars to find out.
“I’d buy him a drawing-room just to get rid of him, if there was any
graceful way of doing it,” said Terry. “I’m afraid this is not going to
be the pleasantest of parties.”
“For more reasons than one,” said Ruth. “I discovered yesterday that
Professor Pendragon is already a guest of the Peyton-Russells. What will
happen when Gloria arrives and they meet? Ought I to tell him, do you
think, that she’s coming?” She had been thinking of nothing else since
her talk with Nels and was delighted to have an opportunity to tell some
one.
“This is going to be fun! How do you know, and why do you suppose Angela
Peyton-Russell is doing it—some idea of bringing them together again?”
“I don’t see any fun in it with that beast Aglipogue along. And Angela
didn’t know—at least, I’m quite sure she didn’t, and doesn’t. Professor
Pendragon is a friend of Mr. Peyton-Russell and had never met his wife,
and I don’t think Angela was going to the house many days before her
guests. Mr. Peyton-Russell asked Professor Pendragon there because
they’re old friends and Pendragon was ill. He thought the air and quiet
would be good for him. He took a nurse along. I only learned yesterday
from Nels Zord. Unless Angela has mentioned the names of all her guests,
it’s possible that Professor Pendragon doesn’t know she’s coming. It’s
going to be awfully awkward—meeting that way. I suppose one of them will
return to New York. Perhaps he would if we warned him. Do you think I
ought?”
“You didn’t warn Gloria, and you had time for that; I don’t see why you
should warn her ex-husband. Besides, it isn’t such an awful thing.
Ex-husbands and wives meet every day in New York and don’t seem to
mind.”
“In a way I suppose I didn’t tell Gloria because she told me not to
mention his name again, and besides I’d like to have her meet him,
providing she didn’t make a scene. If she saw him again I don’t think
she could go on with the Prince.”
“Do you think she really is going to marry him?” asked Terry.
“Of course she is, unless you or some one stops her; I don’t see how you
can stand by quietly and see it done.”
“It’s no affair—here he comes now.”
Their conversation, thus broken off by the reappearance of Prince
Aglipogue, they turned to the scenery outside, while their heavy
companion, turning his back upon them as much as possible, pretended to
read a magazine. The snow that had been falling in thin flakes in New
York was coming down in great, feathery “blobs,” as Terry descriptively
called them. At first they did not see any hills, but the movement of
the train and the stertorous puffing of the engine told them that they
were going steadily upgrade. Now the ground was entirely covered with
snow, and the train twisted so continuously around the hills that
sometimes they could see the engine curving in front of them, through
the window.
“If the snow continues like this, I’m afraid we’ll be many hours late,”
said Terry.
“It won’t matter much. We’re to be there at two o’clock, and we couldn’t
be delayed more than a few hours at most, could we?”
“You are pleased to be cheerful,” said the Prince. Evidently he had not
been so deeply engaged with his magazine as he pretended. “If I am
forced on this train to remain a moment longer than is necessary I shall
perish.”
“They do get snow bound, sometimes, you know,” said Terry cheerfully.
“It won’t be so bad if we’re near some town. We can just get off and
spend the night in an hotel.”
At this the Prince only glared.
“That would be an adventure—I think I’d rather like it,” said Ruth.
As if he could bear no more the Prince again departed.
“Presently he’ll come back, saying that the air in the smoking car has
made his head ache.”
“Don’t you want to go yourself for a smoke? You know you mustn’t think
you have to stay here and amuse me,” said Ruth.
“I can live ever so long without a cigarette. Besides I’d rather go when
he isn’t there. I’ve been thinking about Gloria. Do you suppose she
could have found out about Pendragon and isn’t coming? It would be like
her. She could telephone that she’s ill or something.”
“I don’t think so, but of course I don’t know. I don’t know anything.
Perhaps Pendragon himself has left and all my worry is for nothing.
Who’d ever think an aunt could be such a responsibility?”
She said it so seriously and with such a wistful look that Terry
restrained his impulse to laugh.
“An aunt is almost as difficult to chaperon as a modern mother,” he
admitted gravely; “but if the snow doesn’t stop snowing she may arrive
as soon as we do, and you’ll not have to decide whether to warn the
professor or not. After all, it’s no affair of yours. If they’re to meet
this way they will meet this way, and it may be rather amusing.”
It was difficult to answer him when he talked like that. Probably his
words were prompted by bitterness, but it was maddening to have him sit
back as if he were helpless to do anything. If only he would make an
effort he could win Gloria away from her present course. He was
attractive enough to win any woman. Whether he talked or sat silent, it
was good to be with him. Then she remembered the gift he had promised
her.
“Oh, you’ve forgotten! I was afraid you would.”
“No, I haven’t. You mean the revolver, but I thought it was to be a
Christmas gift.”
“It was—only I’d like to have it now if you don’t mind.”
“What are you afraid of—train robbers? This isn’t a western movie in
spite of the wild nature of our journey.”
“I know, but please let me have it. You don’t know what a comfort it
would be just to look at it.”
“All right; just to show you how much I thought of it I didn’t pack it
at all. It’s here in my overcoat.”
An eager porter anticipated his movement to reach up to the rack on
which the coat had been put, and brought it down for him, and he reached
inside the pocket and brought out a box which he put in her hands.
For a moment she did not open it, though he waited, smiling. She was
conscious of the movement of the train, of the white flakes flashing
past the window, half obscuring the rolling, tree-crowned hills that
were fast merging into mountains; of the smell of the Pullman car,—a
combination of steam-heated varnish and dusty upholstery—and most of all
of Terry, seated opposite her, a half eager, half amused light dancing
in his eyes.
“It’s rather an odd gift to give a woman,” he said as she hesitated. She
opened the box now, realizing herself more than anything else, as the
central figure in a little drama. Inside she found a leather case—pale
blue leather, more fit to contain jewels than a weapon of defence, and
inside that the tiniest revolver she had ever seen, an exquisite thing
with gold mountings.
“Will—will it really shoot?” she gasped. “And it must have been horribly
expensive—you shouldn’t have done it.”
Her pleasure was so apparent in her face that her words, which she felt
were ill chosen, did not really matter.
“Of course it will shoot; and it’s loaded now, so please do be careful.
Here, I’ll show you how it works—see, you open it this way, and here’s
the way to empty the shells out—you see there are six—this revolves so
that when you’ve shot one the next one moves into place all ready; it’s
quite as deadly as a big one, I assure you. Do you think you’ll feel
quite safe with this?”
“It isn’t myself I want to protect,” she answered, and just then, she
saw Prince Aglipogue returning, and some instinct prompted her to take
the gun from his hands and put it back in its case and conceal it behind
her. She need not have concealed it, for Prince Aglipogue was in no mood
to observe details. His oily, black eyes were standing out in his head
and his face had turned a sickly green. His three chins seemed to be
trembling with fright.
“That nigger of Gloria’s; he’s in the baggage car with a snake—a snake
as big as”—he threw out his fat arms as if he could think of no word to
describe the size of the snake. His voice was a thin whisper. “You must
the conductor tell—it is not allowed. They do not know the trunk’s
contents—I tell you I am speaking truth—a snake—as big as the
engine—will you do nothing?” He grasped Terry’s shoulder and shook him.
“It’s all right. We know all about it. Miss Mayfield knew he was
bringing it. He uses it in his vaudeville stunts.”
“I tell you I will not go on—to travel with a snake—it is horrible.”
“He’s always had it,” soothed Terry. “It was in the house on Gramercy
Square and never came out and bit any one. I guess you’re safe.”
“If I had known——” He shuddered through all his fat frame and rolled his
eyes upward.
“How is he taking it?” asked Terry. “It’s bad enough to travel with a
pet dog, but what one does with a pet snake I don’t know, and I’ve been
curious.”
Prince Aglipogue, frightened into friendliness, broke into a torrent of
words from which they gathered that George had the snake in a trunk, the
sides of which were warmed by electricity; that the train officials had
no idea of the contents of the trunk, that George had gained access to
the baggage car though it was against the rules, and that the Prince,
being still worried about his luggage, though he had seen it safely
aboard, had claimed the right to follow him there and had found George
kneeling beside the opened trunk, from which the snake, artificially
warmed to activity, was rearing a head which the Prince protested was as
large as that of a cow. As he saw that his hearers were unmoved and that
they had known about the snake and seemed to consider it quite ordinary,
he was a bit ashamed of his agitation, though by no means convinced that
there was no cause for it.
“It’s a harmless variety,” Terry assured him. “If it were dangerous
Gloria wouldn’t have allowed George to keep it in the house.”
“For the bite, yes; it may be of no harm, but the shock to the nerves! I
should have been warned.”
“We didn’t know that you were going into the baggage car,” protested
Terry.
“What a terrible journey—look at the snow,” said the Prince, sinking
into his seat.
They looked out. The movement of the train exaggerated the whirling of
the snow until it seemed like a frozen, white whirlwind, sweeping past
them, or a drove of wild, white horses whose manes brushed the window
panes. Beyond the whirling drift they could see nothing.
Terry looked at his watch. Down the aisle Ruth heard a man asking how
late they were, but could not catch the answer.
“Let’s have something to eat; even if we’re on time, we won’t want to
wait luncheon until our arrival. A twelve-mile drive through this
doesn’t sound very alluring, and we may die of starvation on the way.”
Terry’s glance included both Ruth and Prince Aglipogue.
“Food I cannot face after what I have witnessed,” said the Prince.
“Perhaps I may have something—a cup of tea—something to keep up my—what
did you say—two hours late?”
He clutched the arm of a passing conductor.
“Yes, sir; two hours late now—only two hours,” he answered wearily,
freeing his arm and passing on. Prince Aglipogue sank back in his chair
as if he would never rise again.
“Cheer up; that’s not bad. What can you expect with this snow? Two hours
only means that we’ll arrive about five o’clock and get to Fir Tree
Lodge—I think that’s what they call it—in time for dinner. Better come
on and eat with us.”
But Prince Aglipogue shook his huge head sadly, much to the relief of
both Terry and Ruth, and they walked out together. Ruth was beginning to
feel that she was having an adventure. Something in the restlessness of
the other passengers on the train, who were beginning to look frequently
at watches and to stop the train officials every time they appeared,
something in the sight of the whirling clouds of snow, the thought of
George, some place back there with his strange travelling companion, all
contributed to the undercurrent of excitement, and with it was that
comforting feeling of security that always comes from looking at storm
and snow from a place of warmth and shelter.
Because it was the holiday season the train was crowded and they were
compelled to wait in the narrow hallway with other people in line before
they could get a table.
“Isn’t it wonderful and Christmasy?” she asked, “especially as I’ve
already got one gift; see, I brought it with me. I’d like to look at it
again, only I’m afraid if any of the other passengers saw it they might
suspect me of being a train robber.”
“Yes; you look so much like one. But perhaps it would be just as well
not to look at it now. I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s beautiful, and somehow I feel safer—I mean safer and happier about
Gloria now that I have it.”
“It’s a curious gift to give a girl, but I couldn’t exactly imagine
giving you—”
“Table for two,” interrupted the steward. Ruth wondered what it was that
Terry couldn’t imagine giving her.
Luncheon was like a party. Terry seemed to be making as much effort to
amuse her as he would have made for Gloria, or perhaps he was so
charming that he couldn’t help being charming all the time, she
reflected. He had the most wonderful eyes in the world, and the kindest,
strongest mouth, but she must stop looking at them. Still just for today
she might pretend that he was her lover and that they were engaged,
and—why not pretend that they were actually married and on their wedding
journey? The thought made her gasp.
“Is something wrong? I’ll call the waiter.”
“No, nothing! I was just thinking—of something.”
“Something nice, I hope.”
“Yes, no—I don’t know.” It was horrible to blush like that. If she were
only older and poised and sophisticated. Perhaps then she wouldn’t have
to be pretending. But she would pretend, no matter how bold and
unladylike it was to pretend such things and perhaps she would never be
with him again in just this way, and it would be nice to remember.
In her reckless mood she surprised herself by saying things like Gloria
sometimes. They lingered as long as they dared because it was such a
good way of killing time, and when they had finished she made Terry go
back to the smoker.
“They ought to have smoking cars for women,” she said. It was what
Gloria might have said.
“But you don’t smoke,” said Terry, smiling.
“I know, but I shall learn.”
“Not right away, I hope,” he said, smiling.
Ruth found that Prince Aglipogue had controlled his nervous shock to the
extent of having a very substantial lunch brought to him, which he
seemed to be enjoying as much as if snakes had never been created, but
he showed no more disposition to be sociable than before, for which Ruth
was grateful. It would have spoiled her illusion that she and Terry were
travelling alone together. Even she did not think he was gone long. He
came back looking rather sober.
“Would you be very much frightened if we didn’t reach North Adams
tonight at all?” he asked.
“No, not frightened; but why?”
“It looks as though we couldn’t go much farther. We may have to stop.
You can see how slowly we’re moving now. If they can get to the next
station we can all stop at an hotel, but if not we may have to sit up
all night.”
“I think it’ll be rather fun—only won’t Angela Peyton-Russell be
worried?”
“She’ll probably have telephoned the station at North Adams and will
know that we’re late. Gloria was wise. The track may be clear by the
time her train leaves and she’ll arrive as soon as we.”
“Then I won’t have to decide about warning Professor Pendragon. He’ll
learn the news less gently.”
“He may have left,” said Terry.
“I don’t know whether to wish that he has or has not,” said Ruth. She
could not bear the thought of Gloria’s marrying Prince Aglipogue, but
every hour it seemed to grow more difficult to entertain the thought of
her marrying Terry. Of course it wasn’t absolutely necessary for her to
marry any one, but she must be in a marrying mood, or she wouldn’t think
of Aglipogue, and she’d done it so often before that it ought to be
easier every time. If only she could ask Terry what he thought, but of
course she couldn’t do that.
Prince Aglipogue had heard Terry’s first words and had lumbered off to
secure the first-hand information. All the other men in the coach seemed
to be doing the same thing. The snow had brought on a premature darkness
and the lights were lit so that now they could see nothing outside. One
could almost feel the struggles of the engine, which seemed to grow
greater and greater as the speed of the train grew less. Finally it
stopped altogether with a sound of grinding wheels. The conductor told
them not to be alarmed. It was nothing but a few hours’ delay. A steam
plough was already on its way. It was impossible to say how long.
For a few minutes the passengers all talked to each other. Some of the
men thought that if they could reach the road they might hail a passing
sleigh that might convey some of them to the nearest town, but the road
was half a mile away and there would be few vehicles abroad in such a
storm, and the idea was abandoned. Terry went back to see how George was
faring, and reported him still in the baggage car, sleeping on the trunk
which doubtless contained “the daughter of Shiva.”
People settled down to waiting; some of them read, and others slept,
among them Prince Aglipogue. He snored unrebuked. Ruth heard a man
inviting Terry to a poker game in the smoking car and was relieved when
he refused. It would have been lonely without him. She tried to read,
but the car was growing steadily colder. Terry insisted that she put on
her cloak, but even that didn’t help much, when she was stiff with
inaction. She tried to read, and finally curled up in the chair to
sleep. Her last conscious thought was a protest when she felt rather
than saw Terry wrapping his cloak around her.