we get up there? Great Scott! how can we? And it looks to be about full
already. Do you mean that we have got to climb that little ladder? I
don't believe Yvonne can. I don't believe she ought to, even if she can.
Can't we go to Mont-Saint-Michel some other way? Peters, I'd like to
slay with my own hands that wretch that slashed our automobile. Will you
think of the difference he is making in our comfort these days?
"Well, Stowell, let's see you skin up there first. Looks easy, don't it,
Peters? Lee, you go next. Now, Peters, it's your turn. And now, Yvonne,
my child, steady, and start and keep right on to the end.
There--there--catch her on top anywhere, Peters. Got her? Are you all
right, child? And now for your Uncle John!
"Ask him if this is a new ladder. I don't want to take any chances with
an old ladder, you know. Well, what did he say? Ask him if people ever
do fall or meet with any sort of accidents going up. Well, what did he
say? Peters, this looks more serious every minute. What do they have the
thing so high for, anyhow? I must say I don't like going up there at
all. Ask him if he has ever known anyone to miss their footing? Well,
tell him to keep a good grip on the ladder. Now then, one, two,--oh,
this is--confound him! tell him to steady it--Great Scott! Landed!
"And now that I am up, tell me how in all creation I'm ever to get down
again.
"Well, why don't we start? That's the worst of Europe, Peters--no push,
no energy. Perfectly content to sit on a diligence and stagnate. Let me
look at my watch. Eleven. Well, I'm not at all surprised. I wouldn't be
surprised at anything that might occur in this vicinity. I tell you,
Peters, it will be a glad day for me when I set my foot down hard on a
New York steamer pier once more. I can't but feel--
"Ah, so we are to get under way at last! Lumbering old concern--eh,
Peters? Great contrast to the automobile--Lee, as there may be some one
speaking English within a mile of us, I would suggest that you lower
your voice a trifle and give the other fellow a chance. What? I don't
catch what you say? Speaking to _me_? Who's speaking to me? _You?_ Well,
what do you want to say to me? I'm right here to be spoken to, and from
the outlook I should fancy that I was going to be right here for an
indefinite length of time. Well, what is it? The Brewers! Where? Ahead
there? How do you know? Are you sure? What do you think, Peters? Yes,
that's them. Brewer seems to be underneath the machine. Well, what shall
we do? Wave and holler? We can't do anything else if we want to. But
they are going to be a good deal surprised to see us perched aloft like
this. Yes; there's Mrs. Brewer sitting on the bank with McCarthy and
the other man. I'd rather be the guests than the owner when it comes to
an automobile any day.
"Well, why don't you holler, Lee? That's it--make a trumpet out of your
hands and just give it to them. Gee! but they are surprised! Holler that
we are going to Mme. Poulard Aine. I suppose that they're going there,
too, anyway; no one ever goes anywhere else. Dear me! but they're happy
to have that automobile. Lucky for them that they went on just when they
did. There's Brewer crawling out from under. Well, I can't stay twisted
any longer, so we'll turn our eyes once more to the future.
"What's that ant-hill out at sea? It isn't the sea, though, is it? It's
land; gray sand, I vow. And so that is Mont-Saint-Michel? Curious. Used
to be on land, eh, and then got to be on sea? It appears to me that we
have quite a drive before us yet. Looks to me to be three or four miles.
What do you say, Peters? Of course I don't know, how big the mont is, so
I have nothing to judge the distance by; but I should say three miles at
least.
"Stowell, I've heard that story you are telling ever since I was born;
who ever told you that it was new ought to be shot. This tendency to
tell old stories is a perfect vice with some people, Peters, and that
brother of yours is forever doing it. I've heard him tell about calling
the cabman a pig in France and asking him if he was engaged in Germany
until I'm about to the end of my patience. Great Scott! how hot the sun
is, and no matter how gaily we lumber along, the mont looks to be
equally distant. What is this road we're on, anyway? Seems to be a
highway in the most literal sense of the word. Dike, eh? Built on
purpose for tourists, I suppose--the American tourists before all, I'll
bet.
"Well, so that is the mont close to. Appears to just comfortably cover
up the whole island. Curious collection of houses and staircases topped
off by a church. However, my main care at this moment isn't what we've
come to see, but how in thunder we're to get down to see it. Well, the
people line up pretty thick, and they have the additional joy of knowing
that every last one of us is a tourist. That's one good thing about
America, Peters, you can travel there without being a tourist. You pay a
stiff price for very little, but that little's good, and the game ends
with it. Europe's entirely different: what turns on the light over the
wash-stand turns it off over the bed, and then, with all that, they mark
light extra in the bill. There don't seem to be any legitimate hotel
comforts here: they're all extra. I vow, I hate to take that hard-wood
bolster out from under my head nights, for it's the one thing I get for
nothing in every hotel.
"Well, Yvonne, I think you'd better go down first. You go next,
Stowell, and then you, Lee. You and I, Peters, will wait and take our
time. I vow, I'm not very keen on this descent. Just hold my hat, will
you? Here, you, down there, hold this ladder steady. Peters, I--where's
the next step? Peters, you--where's the bottom? I vow I--
"Safe at last! quaint old place--old wall with a gate in it, eh!
Fishing-rods and oars all about; when does the tide come in? Faster than
a horse can gallop, eh? Well, that must be sad for the horse. Anyhow, I
didn't ask how fast it came in; I asked when it would come in next.
Well, ask some one. An hour after we leave, eh? Interesting. But come
on; let's go up to Mme. Poulard Aine and eat the omelet, and then we
can climb around some. You walk on, Yvonne, and order the luncheon, and
Mr. Peters and I will come leisurely after. Yes, my niece is a pretty
girl, Peters, but nothing but a child--nothing but a child. No more idea
of worldliness than a cat has of a cactus; a great responsibility to
travel with--a great responsibility. Between you and me, I used to
suspect young Reynolds of paying her attention; but when he took another
ship over, and then left Paris before we arrived, I saw my suspicions
had been wrong. I said a thing or two about him to Yvonne, and she took
it perfectly placidly, so then I saw that it was all off. I don't like
to run down a friend of yours, Peters,--and I suppose he must be a
friend of yours or you wouldn't have him along with you,--but you're old
enough to see that he hasn't got the stuff in him to make any girl
happy. He's too--too--well, I can't just express it, but I know that you
understand. It takes peculiar attributes to make a woman happy. Now,
take me for example. My wife and I were very happy; she always knew just
what was expected of her, and she always did it. It followed naturally
that--
"And so this is the famous omelet-place. Well, in we go. Quaint--very
quaint. Look at the chickens turning on the spit and dripping in a
trough. My, but they look good! Mme. Poulard herself, isn't it? Good
day, ma'am; bon jour--bon jour. Glory, what a smile, stereoscoped and
illuminated! Makes me think of the china cat's head that we used to put
a candle inside of when I was a kid. Do we go upstairs? Eat up there,
eh? Quaint--very quaint. Every fellow did what he pleased to these
walls, evidently. Well, Peters, let's sit down."
"And so we now set out to climb Mont-Saint-Michel. Picturesque flight of
steps. No, I don't mind climbing--good exercise. Curious little winding
walk; old woman with baskets to sell. No, we don't want any; go 'way, go
'way. Terrible nuisance such people. Here's another with yellow flowers.
No, no, go 'way, you--and another with matches. No, no, go 'way. Well,
that's a pretty tall flight of steps, isn't it, Peters? But I guess we
can make it. Where's Yvonne? Ahead, eh? Well, I presume those two
fellows can look out for her. Curious about the Brewers not turning up;
suppose he's under the automobile yet? Wonder how Freeman is getting on
in Vire. Let's stop and look at the view. Fine view! As I was saying,
Peters, it was too bad the way we broke up at Vire. I really felt mean
over leaving as we did. What did you say? Nonsense; none of that,
Peters, none of that. But I will say one thing for her: she certainly
was a woman of great perception--always thoughtful for others. Did you
notice how she used to push the ash-receiver toward me? It's things
like that that make a man comfortable. Astonishing that such a woman
should never marry. Well, let's go on. Not more than ninety more steps
and two flower women to get over. Peters, have you observed how many
stairs there are in Europe? It fairly bristles with them. We go pretty
nearly stair-free with us, and over here it's stairs from dawn till--
"Great Scott, will you look at them! Oh, I never can go up there, never!
We may as well go back. If you want to, you can go up; but I couldn't
possibly see anything that would compensate me for those steps. I'll bet
there are ten thousand, and like as not there are more beyond. I'm
going back and sit with Mme. Poulard Aine till it's time to go. You go
on alone. Just tell him we don't want any of those oyster-shell
pincushions first, will you? Then you go on by yourself, Peters, I've
had enough."
XIII
YVONNE TO HER MOTHER
_St. Malo._
Dearest Mama: We are all here together again except the Brewers and the
two Tripps and Ellsworth Grimm. It is very jolly, only I am so worried
over Uncle and Miss Clara Emily. Even Mr. Peters cannot keep them apart.
Lee took Mr. Peters to his room and talked to him seriously, and offered
to make Uncle still more worth his while; but Mr. Peters has been
agreeable so long that he doesn't do it well any more. He just looks
silly, and Lee says if he was us he'd let Uncle go rip. But of course
Lee isn't us, and I know that he can't be expected to know just how we
feel. If Uncle John marries Miss Clara Emily, I know no one is going to
like it at all.
[Illustration: In Mont-Saint-Michel]
We went to Mont-Saint-Michel, and every one but Uncle went up, and he
went seven flights up--he _says_ twenty, but I don't believe that there
are more than sixteen or seventeen in all. We were ahead, and never knew
that he had stopped being behind, and it was so interesting on top that
I forgot I had an uncle. There are beautiful halls and cloisters, and
then one goes down through all sorts of horrors while the guide tells
who lived five years in this hole and who lived twelve years under
those steps. You get to have such a contempt for people who were in
prison only one or two years over here--as if they ought to be ashamed
of only having been in such a short time. There is a ghostly, ghastly
museum in Mont-Saint-Michel where the visitors walk through an unlighted
gallery and look in at wax victims doing different things in a very
thoughtful manner--all but one man who walked on the sand and was
overtaken by the tide, and _he_ looks anything but thoughtful. The best
was the battle, which was very realistic and must have been very trying
to the leaders; for how could they get absorbed in a fight when the tide
would drown them if they kept on a minute too long? There was a man who
thought he would escape, and dug a way out with his nails, taking a
short life-time to the task; and then he found he'd dug in instead of
out, and, after letting himself down with a rope, he came to a bottom
all covered with skeletons. I can assure you that I was glad we were all
together and that Lee had my arm tight, for the scenes were awful, and I
grew so sick toward the last that when we came down at the end and found
Uncle sitting on the ramparts with Miss Clara Emily, I nearly screamed.
They had all come while we were above, and Emily and some men were out
walking on the sand. Clara is somewhat better; but I think she is even
more sincere than usual this time. In her locket she has some plaster
from the wall that she heard through, and she says she sleeps with it
pressed to her lips. And I _know_ that Miss Clara Emily is going to do
everything in the world to get Uncle, for Emily says she was traveling
just with a little hand-satchel, and now she insists on a suit-case. Oh,
dear, I don't know what to do; and Lee is tired of the situation, and
wants to go yachting, and I want to go with him. It would be so lovely
off yachting with Lee; and the yacht is anchored where we can see her
from the city walls. Lee is forever pointing to her. He says Mr. Stowell
would let him have her for a month, any day.
We passed the Brewers on our way to Mont-Saint-Michel, but they must
have seen the Kingsleys and gone back. Mrs. Brewer told me in Vire that
they could never meet the Kingsleys again; she said that Mr. Brewer said
if he should meet Clara he knew he should explode. I don't think that
Mr. Brewer has much heart or he never would have called poor Clara a
Yellow Kid; I've known Clara ever since I was a baby, and it never
struck me that she looked like that till she told me that Mr. Brewer
said so.
[Illustration: "Uncle sitting on the ramparts with Miss Clara Emily"]
We all took the tram-ride to Rocabey yesterday, but one is so afraid
that a wave will wash over the car and drench every one with spray that
it isn't much fun. The tide is so funny all along this coast, because
the coast is so level that a foot of water covers a mile or so, and when
a wave starts to come in there's nothing to stop it at all. I don't
think that St. Malo is very interesting, but perhaps that is just Uncle
and Miss Clara Emily. He sends her violets, and I know it is he, for
it couldn't be Mr. Peters or Mr. Stowell, and it wouldn't be Jim Freeman
or Scott McCarthy. She wears them pinned on in such a funny way.
(NEXT DAY)
_St. Malo._
Dearest Mama: Edna has sent me the letter about your coming over, and I
am so relieved. Perhaps you will get here in time to save Uncle from
Miss Clara Emily; I do hope so. Edna's things must be lovely, and I read
her letter to Lee. He says if I'm good I will have some things of my own
some day, and I do hope so; but Uncle is so heavy on my mind that I
cannot realize that I shall ever have any life except trying to keep
him from Miss Clara Emily. Mr. Peters is no good at all any more, and
has a bad cold besides. He and Clara sit on the ramparts and gaze at the
sea, and look as if they were two consolation prizes that the people who
won didn't care enough about to take home with them. Lee says he never
realized that Mr. Peters could peter out quite so completely. Lee wants
to go yachting, and wants me to go, too, and I can't leave Uncle, and
Uncle won't leave Miss Clara Emily. It's quite stupid here at St. Malo,
and we want to go on; but Lee won't go on, and I'd rather stay in a
stupid place with Lee than go anywhere without him. He's mad over the
Kingsleys tagging along, because he likes Scott McCarthy less and less
all the time. Scott walks on the other side of me sometimes, and Lee
doesn't like it. I think land is getting on Lee's nerves, and he ought
to go yachting; but life is such a tangle just now that I don't know
what to do about anything. Miss Clara Emily is hemstitching a
handkerchief, and I just know that it is for Uncle. Oh, dear.
(NEXT DAY)
_St. Malo._
Dearest Mama: Such an awful thing almost happened! Clara had a
nightmare, and came near choking to death on Mr. Brewer's plaster--the
locket, you know. Uncle says only a prompt, efficient, quick-witted,
thoroughly capable nature like Miss Clara Emily's could have saved her.
Oh, I just know he's becoming serious, and Lee says it's just tommy-rot
about the efficiency, because all in the world that Miss Clara Emily did
was to jerk the locket up by the chain; and she did that in such an
awfully quick way that poor Clara says she's cured of Mr. Brewer
forever. She will have to eat soup through a china straw for several
days.
Uncle wants to go to Carnac and see the ruins of the Stone Age, and he
and Miss Clara Emily are mapping out a trip. I'm sure I don't know what
I'll do, for Scott McCarthy has bet Mr. Stowell ten dollars that Uncle
gets "hooked" in Carnac. Lee told me, and Lee himself is provisioning
the yacht, and says he's cock-sure that he eats some of those
provisions aboard of her himself. Emily doesn't want to go to Carnac,
and Jim Freeman says it isn't any automobile country, on account of the
relics of the Stone Age being so thick in the roads.
(NEXT DAY)
_St. Malo._
Dearest Mama: Why didn't you write me that Mrs. Whalen was coming
abroad? She arrived last night on the Jersey boat, and saw Uncle and
Miss Clara Emily on the ramparts through her marine glasses. She hunted
us up at once, for she says that affair must stop right where it is. She
asked if you approved of Lee, and when I told her that you did, she said
then she had nothing to say. Lee introduced her to Mr. Peters, and she
sent him straight to bed and had them poultice his chest and
mustard-plaster his back, for she says his cold may run into anything. I
took her up to Clara, and she sent out for sweet oil, and stopped the
china straw, and set her to gargling. She says it's awful the amount she
finds to do everywhere she goes, and she was in a train accident before
she came to the steamer, and you ought to hear how she chopped people
out. The shade in my room didn't work, and she put a chair on a
wash-stand, and fixed it with a screw-driver that she carries in her
pocket. Jim Freeman wants her to go under the automobile with him; but
she says since she's a widow she never goes anywhere alone with one
man. Uncle and Miss Clara Emily came in just then, and the effect was
paralyzing. Uncle turned red, and poor Miss Clara Emily nearly sank to
the floor. Mrs. Whalen advanced toward them as if she were a general
leading a cavalry charge afoot, and said: "Well, so the old folks have
been out sunning themselves!" Did you ever hear of anything more cruel?
Miss Clara Emily looked blue with rage, and said she must go to Clara,
and Mrs. Whalen said: "John, come with me," and took Uncle off behind
some palms, and Lee and I went away so as not to be anywhere when he
came out.
We didn't come back until nearly six, and Lee said he supposed we'd
find Uncle and Mr. Peters learning to play "old maid"; but when we came
in, Uncle was reading a New York paper about a month old, and Mrs.
Whalen had gone out with Scott McCarthy to buy Clara a hot-water bag.
Miss Clara Emily was upstairs packing, to take Clara to a specialist
somewhere else. Mrs. Whalen came to my room after dinner, and said I
must rub kerosene or vaseline into my hair every night for a month. I
don't want to, but I'm so grateful about Uncle that I'll pour a lamp
over myself if she wants me to. Uncle came to my room a while later and
said: "Hum!" and shook his watch, and held it to his ear. I don't think
he liked being broken up with Miss Clara Emily, but he only said that
he was going out on the yacht to-morrow (that's to-day), and for me to
consider myself in Mrs. Whalen's charge for the time being.
He went away early this morning with Mr. Peters and Jim Freeman and Lee,
and Mrs. Whalen and I saw the Kingsleys off for Rennes at noon. I'm sure
Miss Clara Emily felt dreadfully over Uncle, and Emily says she's more
than ever ashamed of having such an aunt. Emily told me that if an
Englishman came on this afternoon's boat from Jersey, to tell him they'd
gone to Dol. She didn't want him in Rennes, because she knows two French
officers in Rennes. It was not a very nice day for traveling, for there
is such a wind they won't be able to have the windows down at all, and
you know it's only fun when you have the windows down. Mrs. Whalen says
she'd have the windows down anyway; she says she'd like to see the
Frenchman that she wouldn't put a window down in his face, if she felt
like it. I asked her where she was going next, and she said she had no
idea, but she thought to Dol and Mont-Saint-Michel, as long as she is so
near. She says it was a stroke of luck her happening here just in time
to save Uncle; she's positive he was holding her hand through the marine
glasses. She says it's good she came about Mr. Peters, too, not to speak
of Clara.
[Illustration: "Mrs. Whalen has just come in to say she's going to Dol"]
It keeps blowing more, and Scott McCarthy says that they'll be out all
night. Lee will like that, and Uncle won't, and Uncle will see that Lee
likes it and then he won't like Lee. Oh, dear! But I mustn't mind
anything as long as Miss Clara Emily is gone.
Mrs. Whalen has just come in to say that she's going to Dol, so as to
see the tide come in at Mont-Saint-Michel, and to measure out the ginger
so I can make Mr. Peters the tea. I'm sure I'm glad she is going, for
she makes me so tired and nervous, always hopping up to fix something
with her screw-driver, and I want to wash the petroleum out of my hair
before Lee comes back. He doesn't like the smell of petroleum at all. I
offered to help her pack, but she doesn't pack. She wears a sort of
night-gown for underwaist and petticoat together, and the front of her
blouse has pockets inside for all her toilet things. She says she washes
one garment every night, and buys a clean handkerchief each Saturday and
Wednesday, and has a pocket for her letter of credit sewed to her
corset. I think it is awful to be so very convenient.
_Later._
She went and never said a thing about me, for it left me all alone with
Scott McCarthy, and I know Lee won't like that at all. The mail came,
and I thought I'd better say I had a headache and come up here to stay
alone till Uncle comes back. I had all your letters and Edna's. Edna is
so happy, and everything goes so smooth for her and Harry that I'm
almost sorry some days that I'm Uncle's favorite. Lee wants to tell
Uncle right out and be done with it; but I want to wait for a favorable
time, and every time that things begin to look favorable something
unexpected happens to make him say "Hum." It is so trying. Edna says
she's getting a lot of things twice over so that I can have half, and
she says she thinks we ought to be coming back so as to meet you. I
can't make her understand how helpless I am, for I can't do anything
with Uncle unless I'm alone with him enough to make him think that I
want to do something else. And Lee thinks it is an outrage and says he
has rights, too. I do think that if I didn't love Lee I would be really
glad to have the world all women, men are so difficult to get along
with.
But, you know, no matter what I say, I'm having a lovely time after all,
and I _am_ grateful to Uncle for having brought us.
Lovingly,
YVONNE.
P. S. It is ten o'clock, and the yacht never came in. If Uncle gets
seasick in a storm, he'll never want to lay eyes on Lee again, and he'll
_never_ forgive me.
XIV
YVONNE TO HER MOTHER
_Carnac._
Dear Mama: I'm just about in despair, and Lee doesn't know where I am.
We reached Carnac last night, and Uncle is "hum-ming" like a top, so to
speak. But I must tell you all about it.
The yacht got too far out, and the new thumb-screw, or whatever it is on
a yacht, stuck, and they blew and pitched until they pitched on to the
Island of Jersey, where Lee and Uncle went ashore for Lee to send a
machinist aboard. While Lee was busy, Uncle just quietly went aboard the
Jersey boat and came back to St. Malo without saying please or thank you
to a soul. He walked in on me and told me we were to leave for Dol the
next day, and for Heaven's sake not to remind him of Aunt Jane by asking
questions. I was dreadfully upset, but of course I never thought for a
minute of reminding him of Aunt Jane, so I packed that evening and left
a letter for Lee telling him please not to be vexed. We took an early
train for Dol (it's always Dol in Brittany), and in Dol we changed for
Rennes. Of course I thought that Uncle was chasing Miss Clara Emily when
I saw the train marked Rennes, but I didn't dare say a word, for he
never spoke but once between Dol and Rennes, and that time all he said
was "Hum."
[Illustration: A Street in Auray]