THE BELLE OF THE TOWN.
Once in a long while Banker McElwin made it a policy to gather up a
number of his boastful relations, reinforced by a number of friends,
and then conduct the party to the house of another kinsman, where he
would give them an evening of delight. He did not give notice of these
gracious recognitions, preferring to make the event sweeter with
surprise. On his part it was a generous forgetfulness of
self-importance--it was as if a placid and beneficent moon had come to
beam upon a cluster of stars. To the men he would quote stocks, as if,
a lover of letters, he were giving a poem to a "mite society." Upon
the ladies he would smile and throw off vague hints of future silks
and fineries.
One evening this coterie gathered at the home of Jasper Staggs. Old
Jasper, in his earlier days, had been a town marshal, and it was his
boast that he had arrested Steve Day, the desperado who had choked
the sheriff and defied the law. This great feat was remembered by the
public, and old Jasper nursed it as a social pension. But it did not
bring in revenue sufficient to sustain life, so he made a pretense of
collecting difficult accounts while his wife and "old maid" daughter
did needlework and attended to the few wants of one boarder, Sam
Lyman. The "banker's society" recognized the Staggs family in the
evening of the day which followed Sam Lyman's call at the First
National, and was in excitable progress while Lyman, in ignorance of
it all, prolonged his talk with Warren. In the family sitting room the
banker talked of the possibility of a panic in Wall Street. In the
parlor the younger relatives were playing games, with Annie Staggs,
the old maid, as director of ceremonies. After a time they hit upon
the game of forfeits. Miss Eva McElwin, the great man's daughter, fell
under penalty, and the sentence was that she should go through the
ceremony of marriage with the first man who came through the door. At
that moment Sam Lyman entered the room. He was greeted with shouts and
clapping of hands, and he drew back in dismay, but Miss Annie ran to
him and led him forward. Eva McElwin, with a pout, turned to some one
and said:
"What, with that thing?"
"Oh, you've got to," was shouted. "Yes, you have."
"Well, what is expected of me?" Lyman asked.
"Why," Miss Annie cried, "you've got to marry a young lady, the belle
of Old Ebenezer."
He had often gazed at the girl, in church, had been struck by her
beauty, but had shared the belief of the envious--that she was a
charming "simpleton."
"Well, don't you think you'd better introduce us?"
"Oh, no, it will be all the funnier."
"Marry, and get acquainted afterwards, eh? Well, I guess that is the
rule in society. I beg your pardon," he added, speaking to Miss
McElwin, "for not appearing in a more appropriate garb, but as there
seems to be some hurry in the matter, I haven't the time nor the
clothes to meet a more fashionable demand. I am at your service."
He offered his arm and the girl took it with a laugh, but with more of
scorn than of good humor.
"Take your places here," Miss Annie said. And then she cried: "Oh,
where is Henry Bostic? We'll have him perform the ceremony. He'll make
it so deliriously solemn." She ran away and soon returned, with a
young man serious enough to have divided the pulpit with any circuit
rider in the country.
The ceremony was performed, and then began the congratulations. "Oh,
please quit," Miss McElwin pleaded. "I'm tired of it. Zeb," she said,
turning to a bold looking young man, "tell them to quit."
"Here," he commanded, "we've got enough of this, so let's start on
something else. Let's play old Sister Phoebe. Why the deuce won't they
let us dance?"
"Henry," said Miss Annie, stepping out upon the veranda with the
serious young man, "they always called you queer, but I must say that
you know how to perform a marriage ceremony."
"I trust so," he answered.
"You do; and when you are ordained----"
"I was ordained this morning."
"What!" she cried. "Then the marriage came near being actual. It only
required the license."
"The last legislature repealed the marriage license law," he replied.
"Mercy on me!" she cried.
"Mercy on them," said the young man who had been regarded as queer.
She took hold of a post to steady herself. She heard the deep voice of
the banker; the droning tone of "Old Sister Phoebe" came from the
parlor.
"Don't tremble so. It can't be helped now," said the young man. "It's
nothing to cry about. How did I know? You said you wanted me to
perform a marriage ceremony, and I did. How did I know it was in fun?
You didn't say so. The father and mother were in the other room. They
could have come in and objected. How did I know but that they had
given their consent, and stayed in the other room for sentimental
reasons? I am not supposed to know everything."
"Oh, but who will tell Cousin McElwin?" she sobbed. "And who will tell
Zeb Sawyer? Oh, it's awful, and it's all your fault, and you know it.
You are crazy, that's what you are."
"Well, you can exercise your own opinion about that. You people have
all along said that I would never do anything, but if I haven't done
something tonight to stir up the town----"
"Oh, you malicious thing. I don't know what to do! Oh, I don't know
what is to become of me!"
"It's all very well to cry, for marriages are often attended by tears,
but you should not call me malicious. Mr. McElwin laughed when my
mother told him I was going to preach, and it almost broke her heart."
"Revengeful creature," she sobbed, clinging to the post.
"No, the Gospel is not revengeful, but it humbles pride, for that is a
service done the Lord. Step in there and see if Mr. McElwin has
anything to laugh about now. He laughed at my poor mother when he knew
that all her earthly hope was centered in me. Well, I'll bid you good
night."
"Oh, no," she cried, seizing him. "You shall not leave me to face it
all. You shall not."
"No, that wouldn't be right. I'll face it."