THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.
“OH, do hurry up, Wing!” said Max impatiently.
“Yes, in just a minute,” responded Louis.
“You’ve said that three times already, in the last quarter of an hour;
and besides, if you don’t come soon, you’ll crack that glass, see if you
don’t.”
“None of your impudence, Max,” returned Louis serenely, while he brushed
his coat and then turned his attention to his shoes.
“But you’ll be late.”
“Don’t care if I am. Girls are never ready, and I can’t go looking like
an old clo’ man.”
“What’s in the wind?” inquired Harry, strolling into the room without
the formality of knocking. “I’ve heard Max hurrying you up for the last
hour, Louis; and Leon and I are getting curious to know what’s going on.
What’s the whyness of all this prinking, I’d like to know?”
“Louis thinks the fate of the nation is hanging on his getting his hair
smooth,” returned Max. “He wants to put in a fine appearance, for he’s
asked the girls to go to ride, this afternoon. The worst of it is, he
insists on my going too, for ballast. Shouldn’t you think he’d be afraid
I’d hoodoo him? I say, Wing, why didn’t you put your hair in papers over
night, to give it an aristocratic curl?”
“It’ll have to go as ’tis,” replied Louis complacently, as, with his
eye, he measured the points of his collar, to see that they were even.
“I don’t really see, myself,” continued Max gloomily; “the use of
playing the agreeable to a girl old enough to be your maiden aunt. One
of these damsels is eighteen and the other is twenty-two; and they most
likely regard you as a promising infant, Wing. Why can’t you be sensible
and leave them to Lieutenant Wilde and Bony?”
“I don’t care for little girls, myself,” said Louis, once more picking
up his hairbrush. “If I’d known you felt this way about it, I’d have
asked one of the other fellows to go in your place, and left you to play
dolls with Gyp.”
“You didn’t dare,” chuckled Max; “you were afraid they’d cut you out;
but you knew there wasn’t any danger of my doing it. Now you see here,
you told me to be ready at half-past two. Here ’tis three, and we have
to go up to the stable to get the horses. How soon are you going to be
ready, I’d like to know?”
“I’ll be ready to leave the house in exactly five minutes,” answered
Louis.
“All right; I’ll be back by that time,” and Max went out of the room,
leaving Harry and Louis alone.
“Look out for yourself, Wing,” advised Harry. “Max is up to some
mischief, I know, for his eyes never look that way when he’s innocent.
He’ll probably do something to pay you for your prinking, all this
time.”
“What can he do?” asked Louis, looking a little alarmed.
“Trust Max for getting himself up in some absurd way, if you
particularly want him to look his best. I never knew him slow to
discover a way to tease.”
“I wish he wasn’t quite so bright,” said Louis, laughing uneasily. “I
want the girls to have a good time, as long as the doctor let me ask
them. I’ve hired the only decent rig in Hilton, Searle’s bays and the
double sleigh; and now, if Max does anything to spoil it, I’ll cut his
acquaintance, see if I don’t.”
“Where are you going?” asked Harry. “We ought to know, so we can send an
exploring party after you, in case you get lost or run away with.”
“Up the river, somewhere,” replied Louis, as he pulled on his overcoat
and plunged his hands into his sealskin gloves.
“The roads are abominable, that way,” said Harry. “Why don’t you go
south?”
“I’ll risk the roads,” said Louis. “Now, where’s Max? He’s the late one,
this time.”
“Here he is,” responded Max; “sharp on the minute. Come on.” And he
marched into the room, trying in vain to look unconscious of Louis’s
expression of consternation and Harry’s evident amusement.
“Max, you sha’n’t! You aren’t going to!” began Louis despairingly.
“To what?” inquired Max innocently.
“To wear those—those _things_.”
“What, these?” And Max raised his hand to the bridge of his nose, on
which triumphantly rode a huge, bulging pair of black goggles.
“Yes, those. Where’d you get them?” demanded Louis.
“They’re little Smythe’s. I borrowed them because the sun was so bright,
and you’ve no idea how comfortable they are,” returned Max, while Harry
laughed unfeelingly.
“But Max, you aren’t going out to drive with the girls, with those
things on!” protested Louis. “They make you look like a cuttle-fish, or
an octopus, or a—soft-shell crab. Do take them off.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Max solemnly. “They feel very good, and Smythe
wears them when he goes to walk with Bony, so they ought to look well
enough for you. Besides, my eyes feel very tired to-day. I studied two
good hours this morning, and they aren’t used to the strain.”
“Max Eliot, you deserve to be thrashed!” said Louis wrathfully. “But
come on; I can’twaste any more time talking. You’ll have the worst of
it.” And he stalked out of the room, followed by Max who pulled off his
goggles long enough to wink at Harry, and then settled them in place
once more, as he went down the hall.
Quarter of an hour later, a sleigh was driven up to the doctor’s door,
and Louis, after passing the lines to Max, jumped out and ran up the
steps. After a short interval, he reappeared, followed by two tall young
women, helped them into the sleigh, and the party drove off, while Gyp
gazed forlornly after them from the front steps.
It was a month after Mrs. Arnold and Dorothy had gone home, and a fresh
interest had come to Flemming for, two weeks before this time, the
school had been thrown into a ferment by the news that two nieces of the
doctor were about to come up from New York, to make him a visit. Guests
rarely came to Hilton during the winter months, and this second
excitement, following so closely upon the other, had roused even the
least susceptible of the boys; so it was surprising how many of them had
chanced to be out on the hill, one rainy afternoon, when the old stage
deposited two waterproofed figures and two large trunks upon the
doctor’s steps. There was but one subject of conversation in the
dining-room that night, as the cadets cast envious glances at the vacant
chair of Lieutenant Wilde who, in virtue of his cousinship, was
privileged to dine with the fair strangers down the hill. Naturally
enough, the Wilders were among the first boys to be introduced to Miss
Bernard and Miss Alice Bernard; and from that time on, they vied with
one another to make the girls’ visit a pleasant one. However, Louis had
soon distanced them all in the race for popularity, for a note had come
from his mother, introducing him to these daughters of an old
schoolmate; and aided by this and by his easy, charming manners, Louis
had succeeded in cutting out his mates. The young women, amused by the
boy’s devotion and regarding him, as Max had suggested, as a promising
infant, had accepted his attentions as frankly as they were given, so
Louis had been the fourth in most of their good times with Lieutenant
Wilde.
But the last day of their visit had come, and Louis had asked and
obtained permission from the doctor to invite his young guests for a
long sleigh-ride. Now, at length, there was no Lieutenant Wilde in the
way and, for the first and only time, Louis could monopolize the society
of Miss Bernard, leaving her younger sister to the care of Max, whom he
had repeatedly warned to be on his good behavior.
It would be hard to say why it is that every boy passes through the
stage of adoration for a woman years older than himself; but such is the
fact, and now, for Louis, that stage had come. He was conscious of a
wild thrill of pride and pleasure as he helped pretty Miss Bernard to
her seat, and then tucked the robes closely about her, noticing, as he
did so, the becomingness of her sealskin toque and jacket. And he too
felt very elegant and grown-up as he gathered up the reins, touched the
horses with the whip, and went dashing away down the hill and out into
the main road which led to the village. If only it had not been for Max
and those atrocious goggles, Louis would have been quite content.
“Do your eyes trouble you, Mr. Eliot?” Alice had inquired
sympathetically, as Max bent over to arrange the robe around her.
And Max had made answer, with perfect seriousness,—
“Very much, at times. You see, I suppose I study more than I ought, and
it keeps them a little weak. It’s very trying, I assure you.”
“I feel very sorry for you,” said Miss Bernard, turning to face the
goggles behind her. “It must be such an interruption to your work,
besides being so very painful.”
“It is, very,” replied Max, in a tone so suggestive of patient suffering
that Louis had a momentary longing to drop him out into a snowdrift, as
he saw the compassionate glance which Miss Bernard gave the young
deceiver.
But the clear, crisp air, the dazzling sun that blazed and sparkled over
the snowy crust and, above all, the pretty young woman at his side, soon
restored Louis to his usual good-humor, and he exerted himself to be as
entertaining as possible while they sped away up the valley. Miss
Bernard responded to his efforts, for both she and her sister had a
genuine liking for this lad, who had put himself and his resources so
entirely at their disposal during their visit at the school, so they
chattered away pleasantly like the oldest of friends, while an
occasional burst of laughter from the back seat, showed that his friend
was successfully amusing Alice, who was as gay and full of fun as Max
himself.
To the happy party in the sleigh, it seemed as if the sun were in an
unusual hurry to hide himself behind the western hills, and it was with
a feeling of unmixed regret that Louis turned the horses’ heads toward
home. The afternoon had been so short and so full of enjoyment to the
lad, and soon he would have left only the memory of what Miss Bernard
had just called their “perfect drive.” To his eager young mind, it had
all appeared to be created on purpose for his plans, the bright, cold
day, the fine sleighing, even the spirits of the horses who arched their
necks and tossed their heads with a pride far above their origin, as
coming from a mere country livery stable. As the sun went slowly down
towards the trees, the conversation had ceased, and Miss Bernard was
leaning quietly back in her seat, gazing at the constantly-changing
views of mountain and river. How pretty she looked, with the fresh,
bright color in her cheeks, and the dreamy expression in her eyes! If he
were only a little older, Louis thought, and if—
“Wing,” said Max abruptly; “I don’t want to complain, as long as I’m
only a guest; but my nose is simply congealed, and I know Miss Alice is
starving. Please remember that it’s almost supper-time and wake up those
horses; they’re only just somnambulating.”
Alas for sentiment! There was never an opportunity for it, when Max was
within reach; and Louis roused himself from his reverie, to start up the
horses once more. Max’s sudden remark had set them all to talking again,
and they went briskly on towards warmth and supper. With a sinking
heart, Louis noted how they flew past one familiar landmark after
another, now the upper cross-road, now Jerry’s cabin, now the lake and
now the old turnpike. Then, as the sun threw one last golden beam over
the white landscape and then lazily slid down out of sight, they reached
the little bridge at the foot of the long hill leading up into the town.
Max breathed a sigh of relief.
“Now the sun’s gone, I think I can take off my glasses,” he said, as he
pulled them off and deposited them in his side pocket, blinking
meanwhile at the sudden change.
“Don’t be in too much of a hurry,” Louis cautioned him grimly.
“No,” answered Max seriously; “but it will be dark soon, so I don’t
think I shall need them any more. But, say, Wing,” he added, in a hollow
tone, as he pointed to one of the tiny burial-grounds which were
scattered about the town; “aren’t you afraid to go past this spooky
graveyard at this time of night?—Hullo! What’s up?”
How it happened, Louis never knew, for it was all so sudden that no one
of the party saw the catastrophe coming in time to warn the driver, or
even to cry out; but the exclamation from Max found them all sitting in
the snow by the roadside, in various undignified attitudes, and gazing
stupidly after the sleigh which went frisking away from them on its side
until, all of a sudden, it righted itself and left the horses to draw it
after them at their ease, as they trotted quietly away to their
accustomed stable. Fortunately, except for the blow to Louis’s pride, no
one of the young people was hurt in the least, and after staring at the
sleigh until it vanished in the distance, and then turning absently to
look at each other, they suddenly came to their senses and sprang up,
with a general laugh over their upset.
“But I say,” remarked Louis ruefully, while he helped Miss Bernard to
brush the snow from her shoulders; “here’s a go!”
“Well, no; I should call it a stay,” returned Max unsympathetically, as
he performed a similar service for Alice.
“Oh, come, don’t laugh at a fellow,” implored Louis; “but help me find
some way out of this mess. Here we are two miles from home, not a house
in sight, and almost dark; what’s the best thing to do? Confound those
horses!” he added vindictively, as he drew off his glove, in order to
wipe his face which, in spite of the weather, felt uncomfortably warm.
“No use to wipe your eyes for spilt milk, much less for spilt humanity,”
said Max philosophically. “I don’t see but two things that we can
possibly do: either Miss Bernard and Miss Alice and I will sit here on
the fence and wait while you run up to the village for another team; or
else we’ll all walk home. Which do you prefer?” he asked, turning to
Alice who looked like a feminine Santa Claus, with her shaggy black fur
coat whitened here and there with the tiny lumps of snow which had
frozen into the curls.
“Walk, by all means; don’t you say so, Nell?” she answered, while Louis
bit his lip, and turned away his head to hide his vexation over the
unexpected end to his drive.
Miss Bernard, too, declared herself in favor of walking, so they set off
for home, while Alice gayly maintained that she had “always longed to be
tipped over just a little, for the fun of it.” Her sister, thoroughly
sorry for the evident annoyance of their young host, joined her in
turning the whole affair into a joke, so, in spite of the merciless
teasing of Max, the brisk walk homeward in the short twilight was by no
means the dullest part of the afternoon, and it was a jovial party that
looked in on the astonished men at the stable, to assure them that all
was well. Their coming was only just in time, for the owner, alarmed by
the appearance of the empty sleigh, was bestirring himself to drive down
to the school, and inform the doctor of the probable accident to his
young charges. Congratulating themselves that they had escaped this
exposure of their absurd plight, they climbed into the sleigh which was
still standing under the shed, and were driven home in triumph by
good-natured Mr. Searle, who promised to say nothing of the matter, thus
sparing Louis the mortification of being laughed at by the whole school.
Mrs. Flemming had the daintiest of dinners awaiting their return, and
insisted that the boys should stay and spend the evening. Lieutenant
Wilde, too, was of the party; but Miss Bernard, anxious to restore
Louis’s self-respect, for the once neglected her handsome cousin, in
order to devote herself more exclusively to the boy at her side.
Accordingly it was no wonder that Louis, as he went up the hill in the
starlight, had lost the memory of his brief mortification, in the
thought of the pleasant hand-clasp which accompanied the words,—
“Till we meet in the Easter holidays then, Mr. Keith.”
“I say, Wing,” said Max, ruthlessly breaking in upon his meditations;
“did you hear what Lieutenant Wilde was telling me, on the way up the
hill?”
“No,” answered Louis, rousing himself from a vague but blissful dream of
the future; “No; what was it?”
“Nothing very important,” said Max wickedly. “He only just happened to
mention that Miss Bernard is going to be married next month.”
“What!” And Louis was all attention.
“Yes,” pursued Max remorselessly; “she’s going to be married to a man
named Hiram Budge. Pretty name, isn’t it? Maybe she’d like to have you
on hand, to act as one of the little boys that open the floral gates, to
let the bride go through.”
This last thrust was more than Louis could bear. Pulling off his coat,
he tossed it into a chair, with a carelessness quite at variance with
his usual methodical precision. Then, turning on Max, he picked him up,
kicking and struggling, laid him carefully in his bed, piled the
blankets over him, threw the pillows on top of the blankets and seated
himself on the pillows, saying,—
“Now, Max Eliot, I’m going to sit here till you promise never to speak
of this day again, either to me or to anybody else, if I have to sit
here till morning. Now promise.”
And Max promised.
Three weeks later, both the boys received the wedding cards of Mr. and
Mrs. Hiram Budge; and not all of Louis’s remonstrances could prevent Max
from sending, as his gift, a silver bonbon dish in the form of a tiny
sleigh.
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