Garth Pevensey was a reporter on the _New York Leader_. His choice of
an occupation had been made more at the dictate of circumstances than
of his free will; and in the round hole of modern journalism he was
something of a square and stubborn peg. He had become a reporter because
he had no taste for business; and a newspaper office is the natural
refuge for clever young men with a modicum of education, and the need
of providing an income. He was not considered a "star" on the force;
and his city editor had been known to tear his hair at the missed
opportunities in Pevensey's copy, and hand it to one of the more glowing
stylists for the injection of "ginger." But Garth had his revenge in the
result; the gingerized phrases in his quiet narrative cried aloud, like
modern gingerbread work on a goodly old dwelling.
It was agreed in the office that Pevensey was too quiet ever to make a
crack reporter. On a big story full of human interest he was no good. It
was not that he failed to realize the possibilities of such stories; he
had as sure an eye for the picturesque and affecting as Dicky Chatworth
himself, the city editor's especial favourite; but he had an unconquerable
repugnance to "letting himself go." Moreover his stuff was suspected of
having a literary quality, something that is respected but not desired
in a newspaper office. Howbeit, there were some things Garth could do
to the entire satisfaction of the powers; he might be depended on for an
effective description of any big show, when the readers' tear-ducts were
not to be laid under contribution; he had an undeniable way with him
of impressing the great and the near-great; and had occasionally been
surprisingly successful in extracting information from the supposedly
uninterviewable.
Though his brilliancy might be discounted, Pevensey was one of the most
looked-up-to, and certainly the best-liked man on the staff. He was
entirely unassuming for one thing; and though he had the reputation of
leading rather a saintly life himself, he was as tolerant as Jove; and
the giddy youngsters who came and went on the staff of the _Leader_ with
such frequency liked to confide their escapades to him, sure of being
received with an interest which might pass very well for sympathy.
It was with the very young ones that he was most popular; he took on
himself no irritating airs of superiority; he was a good listener; and
he never flew off the handle. Such a man has the effect of a refreshing
sedative on the febrile nerves of an up-to-date newspaper office.
Outside the office Garth led an uneventful life. He lived with
his mother and a younger brother and sister, and ever since his
knickerbocker days he had been the best head the little family could
boast of. New York is full of young men like Garth who, deprived of
the kind of society their parents were accustomed to, do not assimilate
readily with that which is open to all; and so do without any.
Young, presentable and clever, Garth had yet never had a woman for
a friend. Those he met in the course of a reporter's rounds made him
over-fastidious. He had erected a sky-scraping ideal of fine breeding
in women, of delicacy, reserve and finish; and his life hitherto had not
afforded him a single opportunity of meeting a woman who could anywhere
near measure up to it. That was his little private grievance with Fate.
Garth came of a family of sporting and military traditions, which he had
inherited in full force. These, in the young bread-winner of the city,
had had to be largely repressed; but he had found a certain outlet in
joining a militia regiment, in which he had at length been elected an
officer. He had a passion for firearms; and was the prize sharpshooter
of his regiment. Wonderful tales were related of his prowess.
When the _Leader_ was invited to send a representative on the excursion
of press correspondents, which an enterprising immigration agency
purposed conducting through the Canadian Northwest, Garth was chosen
to go--most unexpectedly to himself, and to the higher-paid men on the
staff. This trip put an entirely new colour on Garth's existence. He had
always felt a secret longing to travel, to wander under strange skies,
and observe new sides of life. From the very start of the journey he
found himself in a state of pleasant exhilaration which was reflected in
the copy he sent back to his paper. Pevensey's articles on the West made
a distinct hit. The editors of the _Leader_ did not tell him so; but in
the very silence from New York that followed him, he knew he had found
favour in their eyes; and he felt the delicious gratification of one
who has been unappreciated.
When the excursion, lapped in the luxury of a private car (nothing
can be too good for those who are going to publish their opinions of
you), reached Prince George, the outermost point of their wide swing
around the country, the good people of the town outdid themselves in
entertaining the correspondents. Among the festivities, a large public
reception gave the correspondents and the leading men of the country
the opportunity to become acquainted. To Garth the most interesting man
present was the Bishop of Miwasa. His Lordship was a retiring man in
vestments a thought shabby; and the other correspondents overlooked him.
But Garth had heard by accident that the Bishop's annual tour of his
diocese included a trip of fifteen hundred miles by canoe and pack-train
through the wilderness; and he scented a story. The Bishop was one of
those incorrigibly modest men who are the despair of interviewers; but
Garth stuck to him, and got the story in the end. It was the best sent
out of Prince George on that trip.
During the five days the correspondents spent there, the quiet Garth
and the quiet Bishop became fast friends over innumerable pipes at the
Athabasca Club. They discovered a common liking for the same brand
of tobacco, which created a strong bond. Garth was entranced by the
Bishop's matter-of-fact stories of his long journeys through the
wilderness during the delightful summers, and in the rigorous winters;
and the upshot was, the Bishop asked him to join him in his forthcoming
tour of the diocese, which was to start from Miwasa Landing on the
first of August.
Garth jumped at the opportunity; and telegraphing lengthily to his
paper to set forth the rich copy that was pining to be gathered in the
North, prayed for permission to go. He received a brief answer, allowing
him two months' leave of absence for the journey at his own risk and
expense; and promising to purchase what of his stuff might be suitable,
at space rates. This was precisely what he wanted; it meant two months'
liberty. By the time he received it, the excursion had left Prince
George behind; and was turned homeward. Garth dropped off at a way
station and made his way back, this time without any fetes to greet
his arrival. He caught the Bishop as he was starting for the Landing;
and it was arranged Garth should follow him by stage, three days later.
Meantime he was to purchase an outfit.
* * * * *
On the evening of the day following his luncheon at Papps's, Garth, in
his room at the hotel, was packing in a characteristically masculine
fashion, preparatory to his start for the North woods next day.
It would have been patent to an infant that he had something on his
mind. He was not thinking of the romantic journey that lay before him;
that prospect, so exhilarating the past few days, had, upon the eve of
realization, lost its savour. He would actually have welcomed an excuse
to postpone it for a few days--so that he might spend a little more
money at Papps's. It was a pair of flashing blue eyes--for blue eyes do
flash, though they be not customarily chosen to illustrate that capacity
of the human orb--which had disturbed his peace. He was very much
dissatisfied with the part he had played at luncheon the day before.
What he ought to have said and done was now distressingly clear to him;
and he craved an opportunity to put it into practice. He had spent the
whole middle part of this day at Papps's, loitering in the entrance to
make sure the blue eyes should not be swallowed in one of the cabins
without his knowledge; but they had not illumined the place; nor had
his cautious inquiries elicited a single clue to the identity of the
possessor. He felt sure if he had three days more in Prince George he
could discover her: but unfortunately the weekly stage for the North
left the following morning; and the Bishop was waiting for him at
the Landing; likewise the _Leader_ back in New York was waiting for
stories--and not about blue eyes. It was at this point in his circular
train of reflections that he would resume packing with a gusty sigh.
He was interrupted by a knock on the door, and, upon opening it, was
not a little astonished to receive a note from the hands of a boy, who
signified his intention of waiting for an answer. It was contained in a
thick, square envelope with a crest on the flap; and was addressed in a
tall, angular, feminine hand. Garth, his mind ever running in the same
course, tore it open with a crazy hope in his heart; but the first
words brought him sharply back to earth.
"Will Mr. Garth Pevensey," thus it ran, "be good enough
to oblige an old lady by calling at the Bristol Hotel this
evening? Mrs. Mabyn will be awaiting him in the parlour;
and as it concerns a matter of supreme importance to her,
she trusts he will not fail her; no matter how late the
hour at which he may be able to come."
Garth dismissed the boy with a message to the effect that he would
answer the note in person. As he leisurely put his appearance in order,
he thought: "Verily one's adventures begin upon leaving home." He was
human, consequently his curiosity was pleasantly stimulated to discover
what lay before him: but the little adjective in the first sentence of
his appellant's letter was fatal to the idea of any violent enthusiasm
on her behalf.
The parlour of the Bristol Hotel was on the first floor above the street
level. Garth paused at the door; and cast a glance about the room. It
was empty except for two figures at the further end. The one he could
see more plainly was an old lady sitting in an easy-chair; she was
dressed in black, with a white cap and white wristbands; a spare, erect
little lady. Garth judged her to be the writer of the note. The other
figure, also a woman, was partly hidden in a window embrasure. She
was standing by the window holding the curtain back with one hand, and
looking into the street. She turned her head to speak to the old lady;
whereupon Garth's heart leapt in his bosom, the room rocked, and the
chandeliers burst into song; that clear profile, that slender figure
could belong to none in Prince George but _Her_! He was overcome with
delight and amazement; he could scarcely credit his eyes. He wished in
the same instant he had spent more care on his appearance, and that he
had not kept them waiting so long.
The younger lady perceived him standing in the shadowy doorway, and came
toward him.
"Mr. Pevensey?" she began in a voice of cool inquiry. Then she stopped
aghast; and the colour flamed into her face. "_You!_" she exclaimed in
a voice too low to reach the older woman's ears. "Oh, I didn't know--I
never suspected it might be you!"
Garth was conscious of a complicated feeling of irritation, a kind of
jealousy of himself. "Why did they send for me, if they didn't know it
was me?" was his thought.
"What must you think of me?" she said in obvious distress.
"I am in the dark," said Garth helplessly.
She recovered her forces. "I am not in the habit of going to restaurants
alone," she said. "But the hotel here is so bad! I am afraid you must
think me a frivolous person, and I am anxious you should not think so."
"I don't," said Garth bluntly.