$4 reward will be paid for his return in good order, Securely Tied.
Signed: TILDY BINFORD.’
“‘Gee Whilikins!’ says I; ‘where did you find it?’
“‘Didn’t find it,’ says he. ‘Jest picked it up. Old man _Weekly Clarion_
Johnson’s little boy, Bill, jest went sailin’ down the road with a
armful of ’em, a-strowin’ ’em to the wind. The whole settlement’s full
of ’em. They’re all over the floor downstairs, and all over the road,
fur as you can see in both directions.’
“The boys at the table was so set on the game that they didn’t take no
notice of me and Ike, till I steps over, while Hank was tryin’ to
shuffle the cards, and lays the paper down right plum in the middle of
the table.
“‘Take the blame thing away,’ says Hank, without readin’ a word.
“‘Read it,’ says I.
“‘Read nothin!’ says he. ‘This is no literary society. Take the blasted
thing out of the way so I can deal the kyards.’
“‘I see your name on it,’ says I, ‘and I thought it might interest you.’
“Hank laid down the cards and glanced over the paper. * * First he
looked kinder dazed. Then he picked the thing up and looked at it a long
time. His face got mighty white, and I thought he was goin’ to faint,
but he didn’t. He looked around at the boys; all of ’em a-grinnin’ and
lookin’ tickled to death. I begins to have my suspicions about the
meanin’ of that white look on his face, and I steps back and takes a
stand nigh the door. It was mighty plain to me that Hank had misery to
spare, and he meant to pass it around promiscuous. He come up with his
chair, and before them grinnin’ idiots had time to back off from the
table and climb out of their chairs, Hank had raised a knot on every
head, and started ’round the circuit to repeat the dose. They closed in
on him and mauled him and gouged him till you couldn’t tell who he was,
only by the familiar cut of his clothes and the complexion of his hair
and moustache. The only way we could know for certain it was Hank, was
by takin’ a sort of inventory of them that could be identified. As none
of the whole men was Hank, it stood to reason that this remnant must be
him. It was also observed that the critter had a voice some like Hank’s,
and used his favorite cuss words quite familiar like.
[Illustration:
There ain’t nobody in the settlement that will go out of his way to
have a difficulty with Ike.
]
“Now, endurin’ of the row, Devil Bill Anderson had received a tremenjous
big lump on his head, which he could not recall that he had done any
overt act or said any word to justify any human man to hit him that
vengeful lick, and he was by no means satisfied. The more he thought
over the details and narrated the circumstances, the more rebellious he
felt and the louder he talked; insomuch that it finally became necessary
for Denman to assert hisself and preserve order in his own grocery;
which he finally said, quite emphatic, that if anybody wanted to hurt
anybody, they might try their hand on Ike Denman. Now there ain’t nobody
in the settlement that will go out of the way to have a difficulty with
Ike; so Devil Bill kinder cooled off, the best way he could, and
everything got quiet, and Denman poured a big sluice of raw whiskey into
Hank, and put him to sleep under the big tree at the back of the
grocery.
[Illustration:
Tildy came out to the gate, looking a little pale, but holding her
head up.
]
“I went to dinner, and when I got back Bud Runnels had just come up and
was readin’ Tildy’s advertisement. Bud always did love to joke, and this
one seemed to tickle him all over. After inquirin’ all about the
particulars, he asked where Hank was at.
“‘He’s back there under the big ellum,’ says Denman, ‘sleepin’ sound as
a baby.’
“‘What about the four dollars reward?’ says Bud.
“‘Why, I guess that’s jest a part of the joke,’ says Ike.
“‘Well, I don’t see it that away,’ says Bud. ‘The lady has lost her
husband, and she wants him found and fetched home. Now, I’m goin’ to
take him home, and if she don’t want him, I can easy fetch him back.’
“Ike grinned, and looked ‘round at the boys, and they grinned.
“‘I don’t hear no objection,’ says Ike. ‘You’ll find him back there
under the tree.’
“‘Well,’ says Bud, ‘I can easy load him into my wagon and haul him home
and unload him in his own yard, but it might be better for you boys that
beat him up to jest take holt and come along with me; all a-totin’ of
him home in a friendly way. Then if Tildy wants to know how come his
face all broke up, you can jest show her the knots on your own heads and
it’ll sorter help to explain matters.’
“Nobody didn’t answer right away, and before anybody could think of any
objection, Bud added in his insinuatin’ way: ‘It might save trouble to
keep Tildy pacified, so she’ll explain to Hank that he was to blame for
all that’s been done to him. Now, ever’ body come on and take holt, and
I’ll set ’em up to the crowd soon’s we get back.’
“Bud always seems to state a proposition so fair an’ reasonable that you
jest can’t turn him down, so the boys jest got up without wastin’ any
words, and followed him around to where Hank was. They gathered him up,
one at each corner, and Bud holdin’ up his head. They ketched the step,
‘hayfoot-strawfoot,’ and marched up to Hank’s front gate.
“Tildy was sweepin’ off the front porch, and when she saw the crowd she
come out to the gate, lookin’ a little pale, but holdin’ her head up,
and a stiff upper lip.
“‘What is it?’ says she.
“‘It’s Hank,’ says Bud.
“‘Is he hurt?’ says she.
“‘Oh, no,’ says Bud. ‘That is to say, they ain’t any bones broke. He’s
been a-fightin’ ‘round promiscuous, but he’s got no hurts to call for
anybody to fetch him home. Fact is I saw a advertisement offerin’ a
reward for Hank, and I just discovered him, and rescued him, and fetched
him home.’
“‘Didn’t the advertisement say to return him in good order?’ says Tildy.
“‘I b’leeve it did,’ says Bud, ‘but I couldn’t p’form no miracle for
four dollars, so I jest fetched him as I found him.’
“‘And didn’t it say bring him securely tied?’ says Tildy.
“Bud was set back considerable at that. ‘That’s a fact,’ says he, ‘and I
jest plum overlooked it. It didn’t appear to me to be of no consequence,
nohow.’
“‘Well, it’s mighty important to me,’ says Tildy. ‘If he wakes up in a
tantrum, and untied, he might be troublesome.’
“‘That’s so,’ says Devil Bill, thinking of the lump on his own head.
“‘So it is,’ says Eli Scoggins, solemnly.
“‘I believe you,’ says Buck Edwards.
“‘Well,’ says Bud Runnels, ‘it ain’t none too late to tie him, but if I
was you, Mizzes Binford, I b’leeve I’d jest sew him up, good and snug,
in cotton baggin’ or heavy canvas or somethin’ good and stout like that,
and leave nothin’ stickin’ out but jest his head.’
“‘Oh,’ says she, ‘I’ve got the very thing!’ and she went ‘round to the
shed, and come back with the stoutest, heaviest, widest piece of cotton
duckin’ that I ever see.
“‘I bought it at the auction,’ says she, ‘because it was cheap, and Hank
said I never would have no use for it but you see he was mistaken.’
“Well, we sewed him up good and tight, and put him on the bed in the
spare room and cut a big peachtree limb for Tildy to keep the flies off
of him, and she paid Bud the four dollars.
“When Hank waked up, Sunday mornin’, he could hear Tildy fryin’ meat in
the kitchen, and he knowed she was cookin’ breakfast. He didn’t seem to
want any breakfast, but he thought a cup of strong coffee might be good
for his head. He tried to git up, but the sheet seemed to be rolled
‘round him so he couldn’t rise. Then he tried to roll over, so he could
git untangled, but he couldn’t even turn over. Then he got mad, and
tried to bust the sheet, but he strained at it till he was black in the
face, and couldn’t break a stitch. Then he called Tildy. She come in and
walked ’round in front of him.
“‘Tildy,’ says he, ‘what’s the matter with this sheet?’
“‘I don’t see nothin’ wrong with it,’ says she.
“‘Well, then,’ says Hank, ‘what in the nation is the matter with me?’
“‘Oh!’ says Tildy; ‘that’s different. If I undertake to stan’ here and
tell all that’s wrong with you, my breakfast’ll be burnt to a cinder
before I’m half through.’ And with that, she turned ‘round and marched
away to the kitchen.
“Well, of course Hank was fightin’ mad, but he wasn’t in no shape to do
nothin’ but jest lay still and think, and not in no great shape for
thinkin’, so he jest went to sleep again.
“Next time he opened his eyes, Tildy was standin’ over him with a dish
of meat and bread, and a cup of hot coffee.
“‘Good mornin’,’ says she, mighty polite. ‘Would you like to have some
breakfast?’
“Hank grinned, kinder sheepish, and she propped up his head, and begun
to feed him with a spoon. When he tried to speak, she would pour a
spoonful of coffee in his mouth, right quick, and he’d have to stop to
swaller, and time he’d git that down, she’d have another one ready for
him. He was tryin’ to talk all the time, but she didn’t give him a
chance to say a word. Finally, she got so tickled, seein’ him swaller so
fast, that she spilt a lot of hot coffee down his neck.
“‘Jerusalem!’ he yelled. ‘Woman, do you want to scald me to death?’ And
with that he begun to cuss, and bluster about what he would do when he
got loose. Tildy set the dishes on the table without sayin’ a word. Then
she went to the front door, and called to little Johnnie Martin, in the
next yard.
“‘Johnnie,’ she says, ‘is Brother Collins at home?’
“‘Yessum,’ says Johnnie.
“‘All right,’ says Tildy, and she went in and put on her bonnet and
started out the front door.
“‘Where you goin’, Tildy?’ Hank asked.
“‘I’m goin’ after Brother Collins.’
“‘What for?’
“‘I want him to talk to you.’
“‘Me?’ says Hank. ‘I don’t want to talk to no preacher!’
“‘I don’t want you to talk to him,’ says Tildy. ‘I want him to talk to
you,’ and she walked out the door. When Hank heard her slam the gate
behind her, he hollered like the house was afire.
“‘Oh, Tildy!’ She come back to the door and looked in.
“‘Why, Tildy,’ says Hank, pitiful as a baby, ‘you don’t aim to make me
the laughin’-stock of the settlement, do you?’
“‘I don’t see why you need to bother about that,’ says Tildy. ‘If it’s
no disgrace to git drunk, and gamble, and fight, in a corner grocery,
it’s no disgrace to talk to a minister of the gospel.’ She started out
again, but Hank called her back.
“‘Hold on, Tildy; I’ll agree to anything you say, if you won’t call in
the preacher.’
“‘What you goin’ to do about them circulars I got printed?’ she asked.
“‘Why, I’m goin’ down there and maul the life out of old Goatwhiskers
for printin’ them things,’ says Hank. Tildy started out again, and he
yelled after her to come back. Promised he wouldn’t say a word to him.
“‘What are you goin’ to say to the boys you had the fight with?’
“‘Fight!’ says Hank. ‘It wasn’t no fight. The whole crowd lit into me
and mauled me most to death, and I hadn’t said a word.’
“‘I understand you knocked ’em all down with a cheer, if that’s any
satisfaction to you,’ says Tildy.
“‘All right, then,’ says Hank, ‘I’m willin’ to call it square, if they
are.’
“‘Not goin’ to say a word to nobody about nothin’?’ she asked.
“‘Not a word,’ says he.
“‘Not goin’ to drink any more?’
“‘Not a drop, Tildy. Now, come on and cut this devilish thing off. I
feel like I’ll die if it stays on me another minute.’ Tildy couldn’t
think of nothin’ more he could promise, so finally she cut the bastin’
threads and let him loose. Well, sir, he didn’t say a word out of the
way to them boys that beat ’em up, and he wouldn’t even take a few
drinks to taper off, and it’s my opinion,” said old Eli, solemnly, “that
he wouldn’t drink a drop of liquor, right now, if he was bit by a
snake.”
They were driving into Jonesboro when the old man finished his story,
and the big town clock struck four.
“Great guns!” cried Hodges in amazement, “it’s four o’clock!”
“Egzackly,” said Eli, with an air of innocent triumph. “I’ve drove over
this road so often, I can time the trip to a minute. You said you wanted
to be here egzackly at four o’clock—”
“Four devils!” Hodges yelled. “I said four hours! I’m two hours late.
I’ll have to stay in this jay town a whole day!”
“My, my!” exclaimed old Eli. “Somebody’s made a terrible mistake. I do
hope I wasn’t in no way to blame for it. Now, if you’d just mentioned
that you was behind time, I could easy have put them grays through two
hours earlier.”
“Oh, it’s my fault, I guess,” said Hodges, when his wrath had subsided.
“I told old Elrod, but I ought to have told you, too. Then I rode along
for four mortal hours sucking that bottle of foolkiller, and didn’t have
sense enough to look at my watch once. Well, well! I’ll just charge it
up to Hodges, and see it don’t happen again.”
Though Eli was not to blame, he was inconsolable, till Hodges gave him a
dollar at parting. Tears of gratitude stood in the old man’s eyes.
“Good-bye, Stranger,” he said. “I do hope old man Elrod won’t find out
about you bein’ late. He’d be powerful pestered to know you’d been
disappointed. Good-bye.” And as he drove away, he muttered to himself:
“Darn the feller! I think he might have offered to fill my bottle.”
The modern lecturer is the alarm clock of civilization wound up to go
off with a whiz and a bang at any hour in the evening, according to the
whims of his audience. A Northern audience wants to be aroused at 8 P.M.
sharp, a Southern audience anywhere between 8.30 P.M. and daylight, A.M.
But some time in the night he is sure to wake the natives, for he is a
traveling gesture tied to a bell clapper and
When his hands begin to swing
And his bell begins to ring
His waking listeners laugh and weep
And then, alas! go back to sleep.
But still he screams and fights the air
And stamps his foot and pulls his hair
And growls and roars upon the stage
Like some fierce lion in a rage,
Until at last his clock runs down
And he winds it up for another town.
Selah!
—_Robert L. Taylor._
[Illustration]
THE MAN AND THE MATINEE
BY
SYBIL STEWART
There was a ring at the door, a light tripping of feet up the stairs, a
swish of skirts in the hall, then a quick little tap at Mabel’s door.
Mabel had looked up from her book at the first of these sounds with the
eager interest an invalid must feel in any interruption to the long day.
At each succeeding sound her face grew brighter until she cried a
cordial, “Come in,” and, as the door flew open, added, “There, I knew it
was you and I’m awfully glad. You are as good as a breath of the blessed
out-doors.” And she kissed the newcomer’s glowing cheeks.
There was a general breeziness about Cora that justified Mabel’s words.
She sailed into the room, veils fluttering and skirts rustling, kissed
her friend swiftly and settled upon the arm of her chair like a bird on
a bough.
“But, Angel of Peace, there’s nothing blessed about me. I’m in another
scrape.” She opened her big eyes impressively upon her audience. The
audience sat up in her chair and asked with interest, “What disagreeable
thing has happened now?”
“Oh, I didn’t say it was disagreeable, did I? It wasn’t at all; at least
it _is_ not. Quite otherwise, really.”
“Well, Cora, you are the only person I know who can get into a dreadful
scrape and have a lovely time there.”
“That’s because I feel so much at home. And then, some way, even if the
scrape is personally painful I can enjoy its picturesqueness
objectively, you know. That’s the way with this one. Personally it was
very painful to be placed in such a position, especially with such
people, you know.”
“No, I don’t know, but I’m dying to. I only live to hear your
adventures. I never could have stood this sprained ankle if you had not
come in to refresh me with your hairbreadth escapes. You are a perfect
Sinbad.”
“Now you need not poke fun at me. Queer things do happen to me and I
thought you liked to hear about them.”
“Why, I do, I do. I was just telling you how I liked it.”
“Well, you may thank your poor little ankle for preventing you from
sharing this adventure, because if you had been able to walk I should
have invited you to go to the Valley of Diamonds with me, and then I
wonder what you would have done with that conscience of yours?”
“What are you talking about? I suppose you have been entering Tiffany’s
vaults?”
“Not exactly—and it wasn’t a Valley of Diamonds, but a Valley of Matinee
Tickets, which is quite as remarkable as anything Sinbad saw.”
“Don’t prelude so much. I am harrowed to the last degree.”
“I’ll tell you the whole story.” Cora shook her broad hat back over her
tawny hair, dropped down upon a stool and clasped her hands about her
knees. Mabel settled herself in the Morris chair with a sigh of
satisfaction and anticipation.
“Well, you know this is the 28th of the month. That means I’ve been
absolutely broke for a week.”
Mabel accepted this axiom and told her to go on and not be slangy.
“And doubtless you know too that ‘The Golden Quest’ has been running all
week at Howards?
“I should think I did know it. I’ve been reading the papers every
morning and eating my heart out in bitterness and tears. I’d give my
eyes to see that third act. They do say she has the most gorgeous
costumes in America, and her voice—”
“Oh, yes, her voice, but lots of people have voices. Not many of us have
quarts of diamonds, and I was wild to see those, and I hadn’t a cent
except the quarter Uncle Joe gave me when I had my first tooth pulled.
That always stands between me and starvation and I like to keep it
there; besides, the tickets were two dollars. I could not go to Daddy
after the affair of The Gold Buckles, and I felt a certain delicacy in
approaching the cook on the subject. I was thinking of selling my new
shoes when Laura’s note came saying six of us were to lunch with her
Saturday. I thought that would make me forget myself during the worst
time and keep me from pawning my gold handled umbrella.
“Saturday came and I rode down to Laura’s, trying to avoid the posters.
It was an awfully nice luncheon and Geraldine wore her new green.
Beautiful dress but it makes her look bunchy. Well, any way we had just
gotten to mushroom timbales—don’t you love timbales? I wonder how they
make them—. Well, we were at timbales when the ’phone rang and the maid
said someone wanted me. It was Mary, our cook, and she said a messenger
boy had just brought some theater tickets and should she send them to me
or was I coming back before the matinee. My heart leaped within me, but
I calmed myself by considering that they were probably tickets for
Stereopticon Views of Palestine, for Aunt Myra is always sending me that
kind of thing. So I managed to contain myself sufficiently to ask
details. My dear, can you imagine the tumult and wild joy raised in my
bosom when Mary read over the tickets and found they were for ‘The
Golden Quest’ and there were six of them? I told her to send them to
Laura’s and then I tore back to the dining room. You should have heard
the shrieks of jubilation. We beat the table with our forks and sang the
opening chorus. Six tickets and six girls and all in our happy clothes,
the matinee only an hour off and they had all wanted to see it as much
as I. When the first wild burst was over, it occurred to me to wonder
where the tickets came from. At first they seemed a direct answer to
prayer, but I began to think there must be a more palpable source. It
wasn’t Daddy. He had not forgiven me enough yet to be so horribly
generous. And the only other person was Aunt Myra and she is old
fashioned and Presbyterian.”
“What has that to do with it, Cora?”
“Why, it means she regards me as a raging heathen and never shows me any
consideration as her niece, but a great deal of attention as a soul to
be saved. She sends me little books and a weekly paper, and when a
missionary visits her house she invites me over. She hopes to show me
the beauties of a Higher Life, but it only sets me against
Presbyterianism, because all the missionaries make noises with their
soup and it must be awful to belong to a church like that.”
“Cora, you are a disgrace to a civilized family. And besides, it may
after all have been your aunt that sent the tickets, hoping to win you
through kindness.”
“Mabel, you rave! Aunt Myra regards the theater as the clearest
manifestation of the Evil One on earth, and her saintly little Caddie is
not allowed to look at a poster. A nephew is visiting them now, and I
dare say they are taking him to the midweek lectures on Genesis in the
Light of Arabian Topography. I know Aunt hopes to win him to her church,
as he has heaps of money and they need a new chapel. As he belongs to
her side of the family I suppose he trots along, and perhaps leads the
experience meeting. I should not wonder if he wears a lawn tie in the
morning,—that is a special mark of sanctity, you know.”
“Cora, I refuse to listen to you. You don’t know a thing about real
church life, so leave it alone and go back to your matinee.”
“With gleesome heart, my dear. After I had cut Aunt Myra off my list of
possible donors I was absolutely at a loss, and we girls just decided to
believe in fairy godmothers, when the boy came with the tickets. How we
gloated over that little envelope. I pulled them out, and Mabel—they
were box-seats—six seats, box-seats to “The Golden Quest.” Talk about
your Valley of Diamonds! We were all dazed and felt as if we were
enchanted. It is such a beautiful thing to have your dreams come true in
that miraculous way, though to be sure I had no more dreamed of
box-seats than I had dreamed of the Koh-i-nor in my new hat. We wondered
more than ever, and took turns looking at the tickets for some revealing
clue. They were good bona-fide tickets, but that was all. There was no
card, no name, no hint; even the envelope was the theater one with just
the address scribbled over the ads. on the outside.
“Well, we didn’t care and scrambled into our things and hied us to the
theater, while the girls chanted my praises and sang pæans of rejoicing
and gratitude. The theater was full when we arrived and everybody was in
her most gorgeous things, and we were the haughtiest ever when the usher
showed us to our box. Our box! Why, we acted as if we’d always had it
for the season. There was a little delay, for some reason, that gave me
time to think. The mystery of the tickets puzzled me and was beginning
to worry me a little, too. What if there was some mistake and I had
rushed into all this with my usual mistaken velocity! The responsibility
made me feel a little queer, Mabel, honestly. If it had not been such a
frightfully extravagant thing I wouldn’t have thought so much of it. But
not many people send thirty dollar tickets around promiscuously among
the deserving poor. The girls were as gay as larks, but I couldn’t let
myself go some way. They could afford to be gay. They were simply
guests, but I,—whose guest was I? It was sort of getting on my nerves
when a little diversion came. Six dashing young men came into the
theater and stood talking to the usher. They were quite different from
the men about here and created a sensation. Any one could see they were
strangers and we all wondered where they got their beautiful clothes.
One seemed to be the head of the party and he was having quite a lengthy
consultation with the usher, so we had a good look at them. We were
staring with all our eyes, I dare say, when suddenly that first young
man lifted his head from talking to the usher and looked straight into
our box—looked not casually and accidentally but deliberately and
prolongedly, Mabel, and I began to feel my hat was wrong when he turned
back to the usher and shook his head decidedly. Then the usher looked at
us and my heart jumped right up into my new stock. It was something
about those awful tickets and perhaps there was something the matter and
they would come and turn us out of the box. What would the girls do to
me and what would the people think and who was that man and who was
responsible for the tickets? I was beginning to wish I had never heard
of “The Golden Quest” and was sure I couldn’t stand it till the third
act, when the usher and the man turned around and went out to the box
office. Something was going to happen. What could I do? Here were the
five girls at the heights of bliss and anticipation, and here was I in
the depths of anxious misery, and there were the five young men staring
coolly around, waiting for their friend, and there was the man out at
the box office probably demanding that I be seized and turned with my
friends into the streets. But what could I do? It wasn’t my fault, for
the tickets had been sent to me, surely. Perhaps they had been stolen
and sent to me as a revenge from some inhuman enemy. I thought of
everything, Mabel, and then the man came back, collected his friends and
the whole party with their usher at their head, came down the side aisle
toward our box. I had just time to arrange my sad story and be thankful
I had on my best hat when they reached the curtains of our box. I
started up, but, Mabel, they went right on to the next box and sat down.
I breathed again, but not very freely, for surely that man knew
something about our box, or was my guilty conscience causing me
hallucinations? Yet why guilty? What had I done? Apparently the worst
was over now, but I was not at ease and thought the incident might at
any moment repeat itself with different results. There was a blare of
orchestra and the curtain went up; after one hurried glance at the stage
I glued my eye to the door again. Fifteen minutes passed and nothing
happened and so I turned around—turned to look into the interested eyes
of the man in the other box. Perhaps he was a detective and watching me,
but he didn’t look a bit like that, though he had quite a different look
from the one a man ordinarily gives a girl in a pretty hat. My hat was
very pretty—you remember the big black one—but it didn’t justify, the
inquiring interest with which he regarded me. Yet he did not stare.
Really he did not, Mabel, but was very decent. I looked at the stage now
but sort of felt him there some way, and had a little feeling about the
door, too, so I wasn’t very comfortable. When the curtain went down on
the first act I expected to have a swarm of irate claimants for the box
swoop down upon me, but not a soul appeared, and surely no one would
come after that. I took the little envelope out of my bag and looked at
it again. Nothing but 1229 Second on it—in pencil—. That was our number
all right. Then something struck me. It was just 1229 Second, and ours
is 1229 West Second. But after all that could make little difference, as
heaps of our things come out marked that way and there is rarely a
mistake, as Aunt Myra’s, by some freak of fate, is 1229 East Second, and
everybody knows us both and knows which is which. The only accident that
ever happened was that awful thing about Mme. Durant and the
bridesmaid’s hat—you remember that? That incident made me notice the
address, but I could not explain the mystery that way, for no theater
tickets like these could ever have been sent to Aunt Myra’s respectable
door. These were the things I pondered and puzzled while the play went
merrily on. I didn’t see or hear much of it and I don’t believe that man
in the box saw much more. He seemed to be pondering something, too.
“At last the thing was over and the crowd trooped out—among them the
five young men and _the_ man. You would have called him _the_ man, too,
Mabel, for he was quite different from the rest. Such shoulders and such
a carriage! He held his head as if he were commanding an army or a
yacht. Yet when we passed them in the corridor outside the box he bowed
with such respectful humility. He was awfully impressive, but I was too
much troubled to consider him long.
“The girls were wild with enthusiasm, so I suppose the play was really
good. Anyway the girls were so full of admiration and adjectives that it
was very easy to slip away from them a minute. I stepped to the box
office and inquired about those tickets. The man was very polite, but
didn’t know anything except that they had been ordered by ’phone to be
sent to that address. They had been sent, but the man who said he had
ordered them arrived shortly before the matinee and said they had not
come. The usher assured him they must have been delivered for they had
been presented just a few minutes before, and he showed the man the box.
Whereupon the man paid for the tickets and procured another box. The man
in the box office was very calm about it as he had his money, but I
wasn’t. I told him I had gotten the tickets by mistake and must pay for
them. He said he had been paid. I tried to show him I must pay, but he
seemed to think me very foolish and said if I paid anyone I must pay the
man who bought the tickets. I said that was what I wanted to do, but
couldn’t he do it for me. He said he couldn’t as he had no idea who the
man was or where he could be found. But if I could get the address he
would gladly forward the money through the theater. He had begun to look
as if he thought it a joke, so I had to be satisfied with that and went
back to the girls.”
“But, Cora, what would you have done if he had said, ‘Oh, yes; Mr. Z. is
one of our regular patrons. If you will give me the money I’ll give you
a receipt and reimburse him.’ You didn’t have your chatelaine full of
bills, did you? I suppose you would have passed your gold handled
umbrella through the window and given that to the man as a token of your
grateful esteem.”
“I haven’t the remotest idea what I would have done if he had asked for
the money. As it was, I became from that hour a man-hunter. It has its
fascinations as a pastime but is discouraging in its results. My method
has its limitations. My only hope is that he can’t escape the girls long
and I’ll soon hear of him again. I’m praying I may hear of him before I
meet him face to face. Wouldn’t it be ghastly, Mabel, if at a crush some
time my hostess should suddenly confront me with this man—and he would
cry, ‘This is the young person who defrauded me of thirty dollars worth
of matinee tickets?’ Only I know he would never denounce me openly. He
would just wither me with silent scorn. Yet he didn’t look withering
Saturday. Why on earth didn’t he give me a chance to straighten things
out then and there?”
“Yes, it would have been so much more comfortable if he had demanded an
explanation as the curtain went down and your guests turned to thank
you. No, Cora, I think he did the only thing to do and did it
beautifully. His effacement of himself shows he has a heart of gold.
Most men would have left some chance to be thanked, any way. Still, it
is embarrassing for you. However, I would not look too hard for him till
my next allowance came. Your father would never understand this delicate
situation.”
“Father! Heavens, no! Not a soul knows but you and the box office man,
and I know you understand, don’t you, dear? Isn’t it awful—but isn’t it
interesting? I wish you could have seen the man. And I do wish your
ankle was well enough to permit of your going about with me, for I know
I shall faint when I see him again.”
Cora glanced at her absurd little watch, and jumped to her feet.
“Goodness, nearly five, and I’m due at Aunt Myra’s for dinner at seven.
It is to meet that nephew of hers and a missionary or two, probably. I
hate to waste the time, because if I were somewhere else I might get a
clue to my man.”
“So you haven’t met the nephew yet?”
“No, indeed; Aunt wanted to give Caddie a good chance at him first,
because she wants Caddie to have what is left after he builds the
chapel. As if I would look at the solemn prig.”
“How do you know he is a prig?”
“Because Aunt Myra likes him. Caddie won’t look at him, either, though,
because her eyes are full of that downy little theologue, and all Aunt
Myra’s talk against worldliness is going to rebound upon her own head.
Is that a mixed metaphor? Anyway, Caddie has set her affections on
things above and wouldn’t look twice at a million. Good-bye, dear. This
burst of confidence has eased my nerves wonderfully, and I’ll come again
the instant I find a clue and tell you all about it. You are the only
relative I have that does not think me shocking, and I love
you—good-bye.” An airy kiss and she was gone, leaving a faint suggestion
of violets behind her fluttering veils.
It was half past nine the next morning and Mabel was having coffee and
rolls in bed when in rushed Cora, radiant, glowing, and evidently
bursting with news.
Mabel rose on her elbow.
“Cora, you have found him!”
Cora settled herself in a fluffy pink heap on the foot of the bed.
“Now, it’s not fair unless you let me tell you the whole affair just as
it happened.”
“All right, but do hurry.”
“Well,” began Cora, then paused long enough to remove her hat carefully,
toss it beside her on the bed, and pat her little fingers over the most
obstreperously crinkly waves around her face. “Well,” she said, “when I
got home last night I began right away to dress for Aunt Myra’s. Daddy
sent word to tell her he couldn’t come because a business friend had
just arrived. Daddy’s friends always arrive just about an hour before
Aunt Myra’s dinners. I think he keeps a corps of them just for such
emergencies. Then I was nearly late trying to decide whether I’d wear
that black chiffon that I can’t afford to throw away just yet, or my
sweet new pale green and make the missionaries dream of other worlds
than theirs. I finally decided on the green because the other fastens in
the back and Jane had a terrible toothache. So I wore the green, and of
course that horrid little opal pin Aunt Myra gave me, but it didn’t show
much.
“Aunt received me with her usual sanctimonious frigidity and inquired
after my health. We sat in stony silence for a few minutes. Caddie was
sitting by the window but there were no missionaries about. Finally the
clock struck seven. We had waited only three minutes but I was already
frozen to my chair. When the clock struck Aunt Myra turned to Caddie and
said:
“‘Where is your cousin Robert?’
_I_ should have asked if I were my cousin’s keeper, but Caddie is meek
and said he had been detained down town and was dressing, she thought.
“‘Your cousin seems to have no regard for a regular family life,’ said
Aunt accusingly, and stalked out, evidently to drag the culprit to his
dinner. I knew by the way she shoved the relationship off on Caddie that
she didn’t approve of her nephew, and so I thought he might prove a
possible person, after all.
“The minute Aunt had closed the door after her Caddie rushed over to me
and began to whisper. She is a sweet little thing, but suppressed beyond
belief.
“‘Oh, Cousin Cora,’ she said, ‘I have been dying to tell some one and
you will be just the one to understand. It is the most exciting thing!
Poor Cousin Robert isn’t a bit like us and he has a dreadful time with
Mamma. He hasn’t been brought up in our way, but lives in New York in
such a worldly family, and he doesn’t think anything of dancing and the
theater, and he even plays cards. He seems very nice, though, and as
long as that is the way he was taught I don’t know that he is to blame.
But Mamma preaches at him all the time and he escapes whenever he can
politely, because he is always considerate, even when Mamma is the
worst. He has been lovely to me and I told him all about Clifford and he
is going to help us. Well, he told me his troubles, too. A lot of his
college friends came through here the other day and he couldn’t invite
them to the house, because he knew Mamma wouldn’t approve of them, so he
gave a little lunch down town somewhere and invited them to go to some
play. He ’phoned for the tickets early in the morning and they were to
come here, but they didn’t come, so he said he would get them at the
theater. Well, Cora, he got home just in time for dinner and was so
excited, and afterwards he took me into the library and told me all
about it. There was some mistake about the tickets for they had been
used already and the people were in the box—,’ Mabel, it would sound
awfully silly for me to tell you all she said he said.”
“Go on,” said Mabel, sternly; “I must hear all.”
“Well, Caddie said he said it was the mistake of his life for it showed
him the sweetest girl in the world. And then she told me a lot of stuff
like that and wound up by asking me if I’d help her find the girl for
him, because he had vowed he would spend the rest of his life looking,
if necessary, and if she helped him he would see that Clifford had the
new chapel. She was explaining it all to me when in came her Cousin
Robert. He stopped short, and I was the color of that cushion. Caddie
didn’t notice, but introduced us and told Mr. Page that she was sure I
could help him in his search, as the girl was probably in my set. He
looked hard at me and said he thought I might be able to help him—and,
Mabel, I was awfully glad I had on that green. And Caddie said, ‘Tell
Cousin Cora what the girl was like, Robert,’—and Mabel, that man had the
brazen effrontery to do it. He looked me straight in the eye and told me
what he thought of my hair and eyes and nose and even my clothes. And
Aunt Myra came in and was displeased. Caddie had told her something of
the matinee experience, and Aunt said severely, ‘Are you still
discussing that impudent creature at the theater? I should think it
would have been enough to have seen her at such a place without her
being there on stolen tickets!’ So we dropped the matinee girl, to my
infinite relief. When I rose to go home Mr. Page insisted upon
accompanying me and told Aunt Myra he hoped to interest me in the plans
for the chapel. And on the way home, Mabel, he didn’t allude to the
matinee and I hated to drag it in. He kept talking about that chapel and
said he wanted me to help him with the architect’s plans, as he wished
my opinion on it because I might have to go there some time. He expected
to. I suppose he was just talking to kill time. He said he was nearly
dead from an excess of virtue that came from staying with Aunt Myra a
week, and wouldn’t I please, as one heathen to another, ask him to tea?
So he is coming this afternoon, Mabel. What do you think of it all,
anyway?”
“I think it is beautiful and just what I always expected, Cora, and I
shall order my hat of Mme. Durant.”
“O, you horrid thing!” and Cora buried her rosy face in the counterpane.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]