MEETING MISS MARJORIE.
The next morning was an awfully long one. I had decided to call on Miss
May in the afternoon, "between the hours of two and four," as she had
stipulated. Although I had never seen her and had no description of what
she was like, I already hoped she would be the One to make my coming
journey agreeable. I had the old impetuosity, you will see, that absence
of calm deliberation that had sent me to a Sanitarium and nearly to my
grave.
If I intended to take a train scheduled to start for any given point at
ten I was always in the station without fail at half past nine, stamping
my feet at the closed gate, with alternate glances at my watch. If I had
an engagement of special interest for a Friday, the Tuesdays, Wednesdays
and Thursdays dragged horribly.
It had been explained to me fully by Dr. Chambers that I must reform
this by my own exertions and that drugs could but assist me in a slight
degree. Still breaking away from the habits of years is not an easy
thing, and in spite of all I could do I had the old nervousness that
day.
At about eleven o'clock, having exhausted the charms of breakfast, the
morning papers and several cigars, I thought of a plan to get rid of an
hour or more, and taking my coat, hat and cane, I walked down to Cook's
office to see if anything new had transpired with regard to the trip of
the "Madiana." There was a rumor in the Journal that yellow fever had
broken out in Jamaica, one of the points where I wanted to touch, and
although the source of the news did not particularly recommend it, I
thought it well to inquire what the agent had heard in relation to the
matter.
As I entered the office my attention was attracted by a quiet appearing
man of about thirty, dressed in black and wearing a white tie, who was
evidently contemplating the same journey as myself. Now a man wearing a
white tie may be either a clergyman, a gambler or a confidence man, and
I had no faith in my ability to decide which of those eminent
professions this particular person was most likely to adorn. He glanced
up from a prospectus which he was examining, as I entered, and made way
for me at the counter.
For reasons which I could not explain I liked the man at first sight. If
he was a rogue, I reasoned, it was no more true of him, probably, than
of most men, and there was no reason to suppose that he had any design
in going to the West Indies other than to recuperate his health, which
appeared rather delicate. If, on the contrary, he was any sort of
clergyman I would be delighted with his companionship.
When the agent introduced us to each other, as he did a few minutes
later, I discovered that the white tie had no especial significance,
being merely a fad or fancy; for Mr. Wesson informed me that he was a
hardware merchant from Boston, with a slight tendency to bronchitis,
and was going south to escape February and March, which are usually
injurious to persons affected by that complaint in the Eastern States.
I learned from the agent that the "Madiana" was filling up rapidly, and
that there were now no entire staterooms unoccupied, except two or three
containing four berths. Mr. Wesson had no choice but to share the room
of some one who was already on the list, and at the time I came in he
was making natural inquiries as to the other passengers, in the hope of
selecting a congenial roommate. The agent told him what he could about
those whom he had personally seen, but the information was necessarily
meagre.
"It may not seem specially important," remarked Mr. Wesson, in an
affable manner, to me, "who occupies the other berth, for a few weeks on
a steamer, but I happened on one occasion to get a very disagreeable
companion, and ever since I have tried to use caution. I should have
entered my name earlier, and thus have secured an entire room, as you
have done, but I waited a long time before deciding whether to come this
way or another. Now, I am just a little too late to get a room by
myself, unless I wish to pay three fares for one person, which candidly
I do not feel like doing."
I suggested that unless the boat was very much crowded, which I did not
anticipate, an arrangement for a change of cabin could doubtless be made
in case the first one proved unbearable. With the remark that this was
true, Mr. Wesson decided to take the remaining berth in a room not far
from mine, in the after part of the ship, which had the advantage of
being removed from all the smells of the cook's galley, as well as the
dumping of ashes, which often annoys people quartered amidships at a
very early hour in the morning.
I asked the agent for a list of the passengers, so far as he was able to
give them, desiring to see if there were any names of people who knew
me, and devoutly hoping there were none. Mr. Wesson and I went over them
together, and made a simultaneous announcement that the entire lot were
strangers to us.
They had come from the West, the North, the South, hardly any from New
York, and only one from Boston, a strange thing when every traveller
knows that Bostonians rival Chicagoans in being found in all sorts of
places.
"I often think," said Mr. Wesson, with a smile, "of the odd fate that
brings fifty or hundred people together on a steamer, where neither sees
a single familiar face except those he has brought with him; and before
the voyage is ended the miniature world is like the larger one outside,
with its strong likes and dislikes, its petty jealousies, its small
talk, its gauging of character and capacity. Give me a month at sea with
a man, and I think I can figure him up pretty well."
I agreed with him to a great extent, but remarked that there was always
the disadvantage that the "man" might "figure us up" at the same time. I
said further that I had found some most delightful companions on board
ship who had proved insufferable bores when encountered later on terra
firma.
"Your extra berth is reserved still," said a clerk, coming forward and
addressing me, "the one in the opposite stateroom. I don't wish to
hasten you, but the list is filling up very fast."
"You won't have to wait but a day or two more, I think," was my reply.
"Hold it till Saturday, unless you hear from me. Perhaps I may be able
to tell you positively to-morrow."
"If the lady is willing to have another share the room with her," he
said, "I have an application that I can fill at once. A very pleasant
young woman, too, if I may be allowed to judge. She is to be accompanied
by her uncle, and as he is not entirely well he is anxious to have her
as near him as possible."
I answered that I must ask a little delay before deciding that question.
I told him I had three cousins, and as I could not yet say which would
go I could not tell whether she would consent to share her cabin with
another person. If I could arrange it, I would gladly do so.
"You are to have a travelling companion, then," remarked Mr. Wesson.
"Excuse me for saying I envy you. Mrs. Wesson expected to go with me,
but the doctor has forbidden it. She is quite frail, and he fears the
seasickness she is almost sure to have. I made a canvass of my female
relations that are eligible, and one after another found reasons for
declining. I am not used to travelling alone, and I don't fancy it in
the least. One of the pleasantest things in visiting foreign parts is to
have some one along to share the pleasures."
As we parted he asked me if I would exchange cards, and I readily did
so. I already felt better acquainted with him that I am with some men
whom I have known for months.
"If you find you are to bunk with a specially ugly customer," I said, in
parting, "take my other berth. You can keep it for an 'anchor to
windward,' as our distinguished statesman from Maine might have said. I
don't think you and I will quarrel."
He thanked me profusely, and it was plain that the suggestion was the
very one he would have made himself, had he felt warranted in doing so.
He mentioned that he would be at the Imperial for several days and asked
me, if I found it convenient, to dine with him there some evening before
he returned to Boston; which I told him I would try to do.
It was now lunch-time and I thought with exultation of the closeness of
the hour when I might call at the lodging of Miss Marjorie May on
Forty-fifth Street, and see the lady whom I had already surrounded with
the most charming attributes of which a young and impulsive mind could
conceive. That I might be disappointed I had also thought, in a vague
way, but I had little apprehension on that score.
I went over to the club, and partook of a light repast. Then I looked at
my watch and found that, if I walked slowly, I need not reach the number
at which I was to call before two o'clock.
But I did not walk slowly. It still lacked ten minutes of the hour when
I found myself in front of the residence. I took a turn down Seventh
Avenue, and through Forty-fourth Street, to dispose of the remaining
minutes. Then, with my heart beating in a way that Dr. Chambers would
not have approved--and for which I could give no sensible reason--I
climbed the tall steps and rang the bell.
A colored servant answered, after what seemed ages, and when I asked if
Miss May was in, invited me to walk into the parlor. She then requested
my card, and I had nearly given it to her, when I recollected that it
was not my intention to reveal my true name, at this stage.
I said I had forgotten my card case and that she need only say it was
the gentleman from the Herald.
During the next ten minutes I did my best to compose my nerves, for I
dreaded exhibiting their shaky condition to one in whose presence I
would need all my firmness. The room was darkened, and I could see the
objects in it but dimly, while the windows, being tightly curtained,
afforded me no relief in that direction.
"Why does she not come?" I said to myself, over and over. "If she wanted
the situation for which she wrote, a little more celerity of movement
would be becoming."
I rose and walked up and down the room. The minutes lengthened horribly.
I grew almost angry at the delay and had half a mind to drop the whole
business, when I heard a low voice at the door, and saw the outlines of
a graceful young form.
"I am Miss May," said a bright voice, that I liked instantly. "If you
don't mind coming up stairs I think we can see each other better."
Mind coming up stairs! I would have climbed to the top of the World
Building, never minding the elevator.
"Certainly," I responded, and I followed her up two long flights, and
into a front chamber, where in the bright light I saw her distinctly for
the first time.
The reader will expect--certainly the feminine reader--a description of
the sight that met my eyes, and how can I give it? A relation of that
sort always seems to me but a modified version of the record of a
prisoner at a police station, where he is put under a measuring machine,
stood on scales and pumped as to his ancestry and previous record as a
criminal.
The impression made on me at that moment by Miss May was wholly general.
She was not handsome, in the ordinary acceptation of that term, but very
engaging. Her smile put me much at my ease.
I could have told you no more, had you met me that evening. All that I
knew or cared to know, before I had taken the chair to which she
motioned me, was that out of the million women in Greater New York, I
would choose her, and only her, were they presented for my approval one
by one.
She was evidently waiting for me to begin the conversation, after the
manner of a discreet young woman in the presence for the first time of a
possible employer. I made the excuse that the stairs were long, to
explain my shortness of breath. For I found it very difficult to talk.
She was kind enough to admit that the stairs were hard. She also made
some allusion to the weather, and to the unseasonableness of the
temperature, for although it was at the very end of the year there had
been hardly any snow and very little cold. This helped me along and
finally I managed to reach the business on hand.
"I have received a great many answers to my advertisement," I said, "and
a certain number seem to have been sent in a spirit of mischief rather
than seriousness. I hope that was not the case with yours."
She shook her head and smiled faintly.
"How shall we begin, then?" I asked. "Shall I submit a few questions to
you, or would you rather put some queries of your own?"
"As you please," she said, and I noted that there was a confidence in
her manner that seemed at variance with her appearance. "Perhaps I may
inquire, to commence with, what are the duties of the position."
I hesitated a moment, feeling my breath coming shorter, and this time I
had not the stairs to fall back upon as an excuse.
"I have recently recovered from a severe illness," I finally managed to
say, "although you might not guess it from my appearance. I may as well
admit that while I have use for the services of a typewriter in some
work I wish to do, I need quite as much an intelligent person to travel
with me--as--a--"
"Companion?" she interpolated, quickly.
"Well, yes, perhaps that is as good a word as any. My physician says I
ought not to go alone. I have the literary work to do. Under all the
circumstances a combination of assistant in that respect and friendly
companionship seems advisable."
She bowed affably, doing her best to put me at my ease.
"You are a younger man than I expected," she said.
"I hope that is not a serious objection," I remarked, "for I see no way
to overcome it at present. I want this considered as a business
matter--in a way. I should pay a regular salary, and give you the best
of travelling accommodations. I am only twenty-four, and you wrote me
that you are twenty-two, but I cannot understand how the addition of
fifty years to either of those ages would make my proposition more
agreeable."
She bowed again, still pleasantly, and inquired what sort of work I was
engaged on. I told her, after which she asked what machine I preferred
to use. This I left to her, although I mentioned that I owned a Hammond,
which had the advantage of being more easily carried than some. She said
she had never used that machine, but could easily learn.
"Only give me three or four days alone with it," she smiled. "And now,
as these things must all be settled, what salary do you wish to pay?"
I wonder what salary I would not have paid, at that moment, rather than
hear her decline the position on the ground that it was insufficient,
but I realized that I must not seem over-anxious.
"I would prefer you to name the price," I replied, "I do not think we
shall quarrel on that score."
"When do you wish me to leave the city?" was her question.
"I have already engaged berths in the 'Madiana,' of the Quebec SS. Line,
which will leave her dock on the North River, Jan. 12th next."
"Berths? You have engaged two?"
"It was necessary to secure them. I have determined that I will not go
alone. The list is filling up and I had to put down the names."
"What names?" she asked. "You can hardly have given them mine."
I was getting more and more at my ease. I said I had registered for
"self and friend," with the understanding that the "friend" would be a
lady.
"Ah!" she said. "Now, how do you intend that I shall travel--if it is
decided that I am to go?"
She did not redden as she asked the question, and I do not know why I
did.
"As my cousin," I answered. "It is my belief, Miss May," I added, "that
you will find this journey very charming, if you go about it right. To
be registered simply as my secretary, which will come as near as
anything to the fact, or not to be given any title at all, might arouse
silly gossip among the other passengers. A relationship of the kind I
suggest will still idle tongues and make your position more agreeable."
She thought a little while and then said, suddenly:
"You--you are not married, I suppose?"
"Not in the least," I replied, smiling.
"There is hardly time for much preparation," was her next observation.
"What kind of clothing should I need?"
"After the first few days, about the same as you would want here in
August. I am not well versed in ladies' attire, but I should say that a
travelling dress of some very thin material would be the first
requisite; then a 'best' dress or two of very light weight; a liberal
supply of articles" (I stammered slightly) "that need laundering, as
there may be a fortnight at a time when washing cannot be obtained; thin
shoes, slippers, walking boots suitable for summer, two or three
hats--and--" I paused to think if I had omitted anything--"an umbrella
and parasol."
She laughed as I finished. A sweet, engaging laugh that made me resolve
that I would kidnap her and convey her on board by force in case she
refused to go.
"No gloves?" she inquired, archly. "No cape, no--"
"Oh, there are doubtless a lot of kickshaws that will occur to you," I
admitted, "that I need not mention. I am pretty sure that I do not even
know the names of all of them. On January 12th and 13th the weather will
be winter, on the 14th, 15th and 16th spring, and the rest of the time
till May midsummer. I don't know as I can give you any better guide."
She said she would make an overhauling of her last year's clothing and
see where she stood; which led me to ask, with, I fear too much anxiety
in my tone, if she had, then, decided to go.
"Have you decided?" she replied, parrying the question. "You cannot have
seen all the women who sent replies. Perhaps you will yet find one more
suitable for your purpose. It is only fair to both of us to leave the
matter open for a day or two."
"No," I answered, shaking my head decidedly. "As you said a few moments
ago, the time is very brief for any one to get ready. Let us settle the
matter now. And if you wish any part of your salary advanced--on
account of the immediate expense you will have to assume--we shall have
no difficulty in arranging that matter."
She grew thoughtful, and finally begged me to give her till the
following morning, at least. She promised to send a messenger to my
address before noon. I did not like the idea, but I could say nothing in
opposition without appearing unreasonable, and ended by consenting to
it.
"I passed some months in the part of the world to which I am now going,
three years since," I said, to strengthen her resolutions in favor of
the journey, "and I can assure you that the voyage, from beginning to
end, is simply delightful. The Caribbean is truly a summer sea; the
Antilles are beautiful to look at, charming in flora and delicious in
atmosphere. Then think of the escape you will have from the freezing and
thawing of a New York spring. I promise to treat you with all
consideration, and as for the labor you are to do, it will be very light
indeed. If there is anything I have omitted, consider it included. I am
sure," I added, as I rose to go, "that you will never be sorry for the
chance that brings us into each other's company."
"Oh," she answered, with superb frankness, "I have no fear that I shall
not like you, or that you will treat me in any manner unbecoming a
gentleman. I only wish to think the matter over. In the meantime let me
thank you for the partiality with which you view my application."
She insisted on going to the street door with me, where I bade her
good-by without more ado, fearful that if I talked much longer I should
say something foolish.
"To-morrow morning, then, I am to get your letter," I said, handing her
a card on which I had previously written an address that would do for
the present--"David Camwell, Lambs Club." "And to-morrow afternoon, at
two again, I shall return to complete our arrangements."
As she bowed an affirmative, I lifted my hat and left her there;
wondering why I had not chosen the Klondike for my vacation, so near the
boiling point was every drop of blood in my veins.