"I've asked for much more than that," I began. I intended to say a good
deal more, but a diabolic click in my throat interfered with my voice,
and a whirl of brain cells tangled my ideas into such inextricable
confusion that I was able only to gasp out: "I want an answer to my
question. I want you, and I'm going to have you."
She had risen to her feet, and I was panic-stricken with the fear that
she was going to run away. Then, while I was struggling to get my ideas
and my vocal organs into subordination that would make them of use in
this emergency, the hereditary instinct coming from some ancestor with,
more courage than I--may Heaven bless him for coming into the
family!--inspired my arm, and I clasped her in close embrace. She
struggled for a moment. Then she looked up at me, and, my ancestor's
courage inspiring me once more, I bent down and kissed her.
"Oh, it isn't fair," she whispered in protesting accent; and I repeated
the offense. "How can I answer?" she added. "You know I can't."
"There's only one answer," I whispered in return, "and you might as well
give it now."
At this moment I heard a gasp, and Mercy Fillmore's voice exclaimed in
consternation:
"Oh, I beg pardon--I hadn't any idea--"
At the sound, Laura whirled about and was out of my clasp, with a
strength and quickness marvelous and unexpected.
"You may come in, Mercy," she said with an enviable self-possession,
though her face bloomed into a most admirable variety of rose-colors.
"You shall be the first to congratulate us. We--we didn't intend to
announce it yet--but we are engaged to be married."
Mercy gave her good wishes most prettily, and though I suspected that
she considered Mr. Baldwin a more suitable match, she was kind enough
not to give any hint of it, and kissed Laura, and assured me that I had
won the greatest prize in the world.
*EPILOGUE*
Big Sam was as good as his word. As soon as Moon Ying was pronounced in
a state to receive callers, his Chinese merchant abated so much of his
dignity as to pay a stately visit to the Kendrick house. He fell
several points below the standard of eligibility set by Miss Kendrick
and Miss Fillmore. But Moon Ying asserted her individuality to the
extent of approving him with such earnestness as to weep at unfavorable
comments. At this demonstration of affinity, Mercy Fillmore promptly
surrendered her doubts. Miss Kendrick went around with her nose
tip-tilted for a full day, but as Moon Ying continued to weep, she
finally said:
"Well, I suppose you couldn't expect to get anything better out of
Chinatown."
This form of approval was not resented, either by the enamored merchant
or the fair Moon Ying. So the marriage was celebrated in double form:
First, and with many protests, one of which went even to the length of a
temporary rupture of the marriage negotiations, there was a lawful
Christian ceremony at the Kendrick house. On this point the
protectresses were inexorable. Therefore, before the Reverend Doctor
Western, appeared Lan Yune Yow, portly, shiny, erect, dressed like a
rainbow and looking convinced that he was making a fool of himself; and
Moon Ying, radiant in silks, dazzling with pearls and embroideries, and
beaming with celestial happiness; and in lawful form they were
pronounced man and wife. Secondly, there was a wedding in Chinatown,
which was reported to be the most magnificent celebration ever witnessed
in the oriental quarter. We were not favored with an invitation to this
part of the marriage ceremonies, but we were participants in the
wedding-feast, for there descended on the Kendrick house such a shower
of Chinese confections and nuts and fruits that it seemed impossible
that any could be left for the bidden guests.
So Moon Ying went out of our lives, and carried with her our lasting
gratitude for the services she had unconsciously rendered.
Mr. Baldwin affected not to see me the next time we met, and then
repenting of his churlishness gave me his congratulations; but he never
called again at the Kendrick house, and presently consoled himself by
marrying the heiress of the Bellinger fortune.
Wharton Kendrick recovered strength slowly, but at last resumed his
place at the head of his business. He enlivened his convalescence by
telling me how much better he could have managed certain details of our
campaign if he could have been in command; but when he was wholly
himself again he made more handsome acknowledgments of his
approval--both verbal and financial--than I had a right to expect. While
he was still on his sick-bed, I asked him if he would mind telling me
the origin of the Bolton-Kendrick feud, now that it was all over.
"I'm ashamed to tell it," he said. "But if you will have it, the whole
thing started with a blackboard caricature that I drew of Bolton when we
were barefoot boys together at the old school-house. He retaliated by
drawing attention to a caricature I had made of the teacher, and I can
feel the tingle yet from the licking I got. It went on from one thing
to the other, like a fire spreading from a little match, until even San
Francisco wasn't big enough to hold both of us. Sounds foolish when you
tell it, doesn't it? But it's been serious enough."
When the subject of an approaching wedding was broached to Wharton
Kendrick, I had an indistinct impression that he thought his niece could
have done better. But as the date drew near, I had no fault to find
with his growing enthusiasm, and indeed had to enter into conspiracy
with Laura to curb his extravagance. He gave away the bride with
exemplary dignity, made a speech that set the wedding-table in a roar,
and as we drove away, sent a farewell shoe after me with such unerring
aim that I spent the first part of the honeymoon in an odor of arnica
and opodeldoc. And even now a whiff of liniment carries me back in
fancy to that happy time.
Mercy Fillmore made a most charming bridesmaid at our wedding, and
General Wilson was so loud in her praise, and so frank in telling what
he would do if he were thirty years younger, that she went through the
evening with an unwonted color in her face. But a few months later she
was married--at our house, and with many misgivings on our part--to
Parks. But we were happily disappointed in our fears. Whether from the
calming influence of Mercy, or the black eye bestowed upon him by an
ungrateful constituency, Parks ceased to be a militant reformer, and
turned his energies to the prosaic but more remunerative business of
selling groceries. He cut his hair, and though on occasion he delivers
addresses before numberless clubs, in which he declares that the remedy
for the evils of society is to be found in socialism, he is careful to
insist that this panacea is to be applied in the distant future, and is
not adapted to present conditions.
It is a good many years since I married my wife, and it is my candid
opinion that she is prettier than ever. I can join the children in
testifying that her talent for managing a family is unsurpassed. Perhaps
there is a little more of it than is absolutely necessary, but it is
some time since I ceased to offer that suggestion. As for me--well,
I've grown stouter than in the hurrying days of old; but Mrs. Hampden
affects to believe that a portly form is highly becoming in a man, and I
shouldn't think of being the one to contradict her.
*POSTSCRIPT*
The author offers his apologies to the Muse of History for a few
liberties that have been taken with chronology in the tale. Kearney's
rise to prominence followed instead of preceding the riots of 1877.
Otherwise, the history of the time, where touched on, has been
faithfully followed, and, I hope, the spirit of the self-reliant men who
organized a city for its own defense has given some inspiration to these
pages.
The city of which the tale is told is gone. Such buildings of the era
as had survived the march of time and progress were swept away by the
mightiest conflagration of history, and all that is left of the old San
Francisco is a memory. That the new city that springs from its ashes
may prove as picturesque as the old, and be animated by the same spirit,
is the hope of the author of these pages.
* * * * * * * *
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