A SCRAP OF PAPER.
Bruce Jermyn was as honorable a gentleman as could be found anywhere,
but for two or three days and nights he wished he had read farther in
that letter upon which he and the Admiral had made their sketches of
the surroundings of the placer mine. No one knew better than he the
rights and sanctity of private correspondence, but could any man be
blamed for wanting to know who it was who was planning to marry him to
Kate Trewman?
He could not say that he objected to the lady named in the letter,
but who could it be who was charging herself with the conduct of the
affair? "Dear old Papa," the letter had begun, and the Admiral being
old, and also the possessor of the letter, was undoubtedly the person
to whom it was addressed, but who could the writer be? Jermyn knew that
the Admiral had at least one daughter, who was a clever woman with some
reputation in the service as a match-maker, but she was married and
living several hundreds of miles from Old Point.
Perhaps she had arrived, an invalid, and remained in her room; but it
was strange that no one mentioned her. Evidently the writer, whoever
she might be--for the penmanship was that of a woman--was acquainted
with Kate Trewman: in that case her identity might be discovered
through Kate, but Jermyn, manly and honest though he was, half felt
that he would not again be able to look Kate fully in the face, much
less to interrogate her skilfully on so delicate a subject, in which
there seemed so much at stake.
All his fears and doubts, however, disappeared like mists before the
sun when next he met Kate herself. That estimable young woman was not
in the least forward, but she knew how to put at their ease such men as
she liked, and she quickly made herself so companionable that Jermyn
began to wish that the writer of the letter would go on match-making,
and in the greatest of earnest. Still, who on earth, or at Old Point,
could she be? The Admiral himself seemed to enter entirely into the
spirit of the affair, for he made two or three occasions to speak to
Kate and Jermyn together, and to bring out some of the young man's
best points; he was as hearty as if he and Jermyn had been boys
together, and that sort of thing, from an officer of very high rank to
a subaltern, has its effect upon women. Indeed, the old sea-dog was
so very familiar that Jermyn almost determined to boldly ask him for
another glance at the letter--at least, for a look at the sketches.
But the Admiral's affability and high spirits were partly assumed, for
he had a great load of trouble upon his mind. When he reached his
room and prepared to burn the tell-tale letter, he could not find the
letter itself. What could he have done with it? At times he was very
absent-minded; he had been known to go out without his hat, and to
search with his right hand for the eye-glasses that were in his left,
but he certainly had carried that letter too close to his mind to
mislay it. Had he taken any papers from his pocket anywhere? Ha! That
sketch of the placer mine.
He hurried back to the fort, but it was not there, nor could he find
anyone who had seen it. Probably, the semi-public man, Blogsham, had
pocketed the paper, which would have been entirely natural under the
circumstances, but Blogsham had already started for Washington.
The Admiral groaned. He remembered that the letter had no signature,
so it could not be traced to its writer; but the writer was a woman,
and the subject was a woman and an officer, and Blogsham was rather
a coarse fellow, and very fond of a practical joke, and if he should
chance to know Jermyn----
Know Jermyn? Why, to be sure he knew him! Had not the Admiral himself
introduced the Lieutenant, and consulted him about the sketch? Possibly
Jermyn himself had the letter; he would ask him. Hence, the Admiral's
frequent excuses to speak to Jermyn in Kate's presence, and to finally
ask bluntly:
"By the way, Jermyn, do you remember those sketches we made at the club
yesterday?"
The young officer suddenly reddened, and the older officer lost heart,
although he regained it when Jermyn replied:
"Yes, and I was going to ask you to let me see them once more. Have you
them with you?"
The Admiral looked the Lieutenant full in the eye, at which the
disappearing flush returned. The Admiral continued:
"I supposed you had it already."
"Not I, I assure you. I left it upon the club table, right at your
elbow."
The Admiral suddenly looked so uncomfortable that Jermyn said:
"I sincerely hope you haven't lost it!"
"So do I. I could make the sketch again from memory, but there were
some--er--some memoranda on the other side of the sheet which I had
intended to preserve; that is, they were not my property, and----"
"Not your property?" Jermyn thought he saw the opportunity for which he
was longing.
"No. The letter itself belonged to another person. Do you suppose that
Blogsham himself may have kept the sketches for future reference."
"Quite possibly. But Blogsham has returned to Washington."
"So I have heard. I suppose there is nothing left but to write him."
"What a lot of trouble a bit of paper may cause," said Kate, becoming
restive during a conversation in which she had no part.
"Yes--yes, indeed," replied the Admiral in a manner so unlike any which
Kate had previously seen him display that the young woman began to
wonder whether there could be some historic or romantic interest about
the bit of paper in which the two men seemed so deeply interested.
Everything she had known about gentlemen of the army and navy, until
the last two or three days, had been learned from novels and stories,
in many of which a bit of paper played an important part. Perhaps there
was some romance even about this, and any romance of army and navy
would be very interesting to her--could she know it.
An hour later Kate joined Trif and Fenie, with whom sat Harry. Both
ladies rallied her about her apparent conquests in both warlike
branches of the public service, and Kate finally said that she wished
she often could make conquests of such men as Admiral Allison and
Lieutenant Jermyn.
"And only think," she added; "I do believe there's some great mystery
between the two men. 'Tis none of my affair, of course, but I can't
help being curious about it. 'Tis all about some sketches and memoranda
of some kind. They talked it over before me without any hesitation, but
it was plain to see that there was much more to it than appeared in the
conversation."
"Oh," said Fenie, "there seems to be an epidemic of mislaying bits of
paper. Trif, here, has been worrying all day about a letter to Phil
which she began but didn't finish. I told her it was the easiest thing
in the world to write a letter to one's own husband--or ought to be,
but she has upset her entire room while searching for that wretched
note."
Trif tried to laugh, but she felt very uncomfortable. To change the
subject of conversation she called Trixy and examined the child's shoes
to see that they were tied, and she set Trixy's hat properly upon
her head. Meanwhile Kate continued to talk about the Admiral and the
Lieutenant, and their lost sketches and memoranda, and Trixy took part
in the conversation by saying that the Admiral was nicer than ever,
because he wrote a long letter for her, the day before, to send to her
dear papa.
"Trixy!" exclaimed Fenie. "How could you trouble some one not of the
family to write a letter for you?"
"Why, him and me is good friends, and mamma began a letter for me, but
she put off finishing it, and----"
Trif arose with a start, took the child's hand, and walked away so
rapidly that a family woman sitting near by remarked to another family
woman that it looked very much as if a certain child was being led to
punishment.
"Trixy, dear," asked Trif, as soon as she was well away from the
throng, "how did the Admiral come to write that letter for you?"
"Why," explained Trixy, "I wanted that letter finished, you know,
'cause I promised papa when we started down here that I wouldn't
neglect him, so I tried to finish it myself, but 'twas dreadful hard
work for me, 'cause the bottom of a chair isn't a very good table, so I
asked the Admiral to finish it for me."
"But the letter itself--where did you get it? Where is it now?"
"Got it out of your portfolio, where you put it when you stopped
writin' it."
"You dreadful child! The letter I began for you I sent to your father,
just as it was, and the one you took from my portfolio was my own."
Trixy had often been called dreadful; the word was in common use in the
family, although it was generally accompanied by a smile and a kiss.
Now, however, there was no such demonstration. Trif looked so stern
that Trixy began to cry, and, as the mother's expression did not relax,
the child was soon crying industriously, while Fenie, who had been
looking on from a distance wondering what was going on, and indignant
that any one--except, perhaps, herself--should do anything to make the
dear child uncomfortable, hurried to the rescue.
"I think you're making a great fuss about a very small matter," said
Fenie, with the firm conviction and superior sense peculiar to very
young women. "I don't see anything to it that you can complain of,
except that Trixy got the wrong letter finished. I'm sure you can have
written nothing which was unfit for your husband to receive."
"But suppose the Admiral has chanced to read what was already written?"
"Suppose he did? What then?"
"He knows Jermyn, and--oh, oh, oh!"
Trif's manner was so tragical that Fenie was mystified! What could it
all mean? It couldn't be that her sister had become too fond of Jermyn,
and had any foolishness to confess to her husband; but, if not, what
was there dreadful about the fact that the Admiral knew Jermyn?
In the meantime, Trixy had followed the custom of children in general
in such cases, which is to get away from the scene of trouble as soon
as possible. Chancing to meet the Admiral himself, she abruptly said to
him:
"Say, mamma knows all about that letter. I didn't tell her nothin'--she
just guessed it."
"Whew!" exclaimed the old man. Then he looked as thoughtful and anxious
for a moment as if he were taking a fleet into action, and he said,
half to himself, "I must take the night-boat for Washington. I hope
Blogsham may still be there. I must beg you to excuse me, Trixy."
The Admiral hurried into the hotel, Trixy following him as far as she
could. At the other front of the house she met Jermyn, followed by a
servant with a portmanteau.
"Good bye, little girl," said the officer. "I shall be back in a couple
of days. A friend of mine is about to run up to Washington with one of
the government boats, and I'm going with him. Please remember me to
your mother and aunt, and to Miss Trewman."
"What! you goin' to Washin'ton too. So's the Admiral."
Jermyn stared wonderingly, and the last of him that Trixy saw to
remember was a face which seemed one great frown.