"Where you goin'?" says Bishop.
"Just for a stroll round the decks," says I.
"We'll go along," he says.
I seen the treatment was beginnin' to work. "Nothin' doin'!" I says.
"This is one of our semi-annual honeymoons and we can't use no outside
help."
A few minutes before we hit St. Joe we seen 'em again, settin' down
below, afraid to dance and entirely out o' conversation. They was havin'
just as good a time as Jennie's babies.
"We're pretty near in," I says, "and 'twas one o' the smoothest
crossin's I ever made."
"They couldn't nobody get sick in weather like this," says Bess.
"No," I says, "but you take a smooth Saturday afternoon and it generally
always means a rough Sunday night."
"Ain't they no railroad between here and Chi?" ast Bishop.
"Not direct," I says. "You have to go to Lansing and then cut across to
Fort Wayne. If you make good connections you can do it in a day and two
nights, but most o' the way is through the copper ranges and the trains
keeps gettin' later and later, and when they try to make up time they
generally always slip offen the track and spill their contents."
"If it looks like a storm to-morrow night," says Bess, "we might wait
over and go home Monday."
That idear scared Bishop more'n the thought of a wreck.
"Oh, no!" he says. "I got to be back on the job Monday mornin'."
"If it's as rough as I think it's goin' to be," says I, "you won't feel
like rippin' off no scenarios Monday."
We landed and walked up the highest hill in Michigan to the hotel. I
noticed that Miss Bessie carried her own suit-case.
"Well," I says, "I suppose you two kids would rather eat your supper by
yourself, and I and the Missus will set at another table."
"No, no!" says Bess. "It'll be pleasanter to all eat together."
So for about half an hour we had 'em with us; and they'd of stuck the
rest o' the evenin' if I'd gave 'em a chance.
"What about a little game o' cards?" says Bishop, when we was through
eatin'.
"It's mighty nice o' you to suggest it," I says; "but I know you're only
doin' it for my sake and the Wife's. We'll find some way to amuse
ourself, and you and Bess can take a stroll down on the beach."
"The wind made me sleepy," says Bishop. "I believe I'll go up to my room
and turn in."
"The rooms is not ready," I says. "The clerk'll let us know as soon as
we can have 'em."
But he didn't take my word; and when he'd talked to the clerk himself,
and found out that he could have his room right away, they wasn't no
arguin' with him. Off he went to bed at eight P. M., leavin' the Missus
and I to entertain the Belle o' Wabash.
Sunday mornin' I added to my investment by hirin' a flivver to take us
out to the Edgewater Club.
"Now," I says, "we'll rent some bathin' suits and cool off."
"I don't dast go in," says Bishop. "I'd take more cold. I'll watch the
rest o' you."
Well, I didn't care whether he went in or not, the water bein' too
shallow along there to drownd him; but I did want him to watch the rest
of us--one in particular.
The suit they gave her was an Annette. I wouldn't make no attempt to
describe what she looked like in it, unless it'd be a capital Y that had
got turned upside down. She didn't have no displacement and she could of
stayed in all day without the lake ever findin' out she was there.
But I cut the film short so's I could get 'em back to the hotel and
leave the pair together again.
"You're goin' to have all the rest o' the day to yourself," I told 'em.
"We won't eat dinner with you. I and the Missus will just disappear and
meet you here in the hotel at seven o'clock to-night."
"Where are you goin'?" ast Bishop.
"Never you mind," I says.
"Maybe we'd like to go along with you," he says.
"Yes, you would!" says I. "Remember, boy, I was in love once myself, and
I know I didn't want no third parties hangin' round."
"But what can we do all day in this burg?" he says.
"They's plenty to do," I says. "You can go over there and set on them
benches and watch the interurbans come in from South Bend and Niles, or
you can hire a boat and go out for a sail, or you can fish for tarpons;
or you can take a trolley over to Benton Harbor; or you can set on the
beach and spoon. Nobody minds here--only be sure you don't set in
somebody's lunch basket, because they say a garlic stain's almost
impossible to get out. And they's another thing you might do," I says:
"this town's one o' these here Gretna Greens. You can get a marriage
license in any delicatessen and the street-car conductors is authorized
to perform the ceremony."
They didn't blush when I pulled that; they turned pale, both o' them,
and I seen that I was goin' to win, sure.
"Come on!" I says to the Missus. "We must be on our way."
We left 'em before they could stop us and walked acrost the street and
along through the park.
"Where are we headed?" ast the Wife.
"I don't know," I says; "but I don't want to spoil their good time."
"I don't believe they're havin' a good time," she says.
"How could they help it?" says I. "When two true lovers is left alone
together, what more could they ast for?"
"They's somethin' wrong with 'em," says the Missus. "They act like they
was mad at each other. And Bess told me when we was out to the Edgewater
Club that she wished we was home."
"That's a fine way for her to talk," I says, "when I'm tryin' to show
her a good time!"
"And I overheard Elmer," says the Missus, "askin' one o' the bell boys
where he could get somethin' to drink; and the bell boy ast him what
kind of a drink, and he says, whisky or poison--it didn't make no
difference."
"If I was sure he'd take the poison I'd try to get it for him," I says.
On the grass and the benches in the park we seen some o' the gang that'd
came over on the boat with us. They looked like they'd laid there all
night and the kids was cryin' louder'n ever. Besides them we seen dozens
o' young couples that was still on speakin' terms, because they'd only
been together an hour or two. The girls was wearin' nice, clean, white
dresses and white shoes, and was all prettied up. They seemed to be
havin' the time o' their life. And by four o'clock in the afternoon
their fingers would be stuck together with crackerjack and their dresses
decorated with chocolate sirup, and their escorts talkin' to 'em like a
section boss to a gang o' hunkies.
We wandered round till dinner-time, and then dropped into a little
restaurant where they give you a whole meal for thirty-five cents and
make a profit of thirty-five cents. When we'd staggered out under the
weight o' this repast, a street-car was standin' there that said it
would take us to the House o' David.
"Come on!" I says, and led the Missus aboard.
"Where to?" she ast me.
"I don't know," I says; "but it sounds like a road house."
It was even better'n that. You couldn't get nothin' to drink, but they
was plenty to see and hear--band concerts, male and female; movin'
pitchers; a zoo; a bowlin' alley; and more funny-lookin' people than I
ever seen in an amusement park before.
It ain't a regular amusement park, but fifty-fifty between that and a
kind of religious sex that calls themself the Holy Roller Skaters or
somethin'. All the men that was old enough to keep a beard had one; and
for a minute I thought we'd bumped into the summer home o' the people
that took part in _Ada_.
They wouldn't nobody of ever mistook the women for _Follies_ chorus
girls. They looked like they was havin' a prize contest to see which
could dress the homeliest; and if I'd been one o' the judges I'd of
split the first prize as many ways as they was women.
"I'm goin' to talk to some o' these people," I told the Wife.
"What for?" she says.
"Well, for one thing," I says, "I been talkin' to one person so long I'm
tired of it; and, for another thing, I want to find out what the idear
o' the whole concern is."
So we walked up to one o' the most flourishin' beards and I braced him.
"Who owns this joint?" I says.
"All who have the faith," he says.
"What do they charge a man to join?" I ast him.
"Many's called and few chosen," he says.
"How long have you been here?" I ast him.
"Prove all things and hold fast to what's good," he says. "Why don't you
get some of our books and study 'em?"
He led us over to where they had the books and I looked at some o' them.
One was the _Flyin' Roll_, and another was the _Livin' Roll o' Life_,
and another was the _Rollin' Ball o' Fire_.
"If you had some books about coffee you could make a breakfast on 'em,"
I says.
Well, we stuck round there till pretty near six o'clock and talked to a
lot o' different ones and ast 'em all kinds o' questions; and they
answered 'em all with verses from Scripture that had nothin' to do with
what we'd ast.
"We got a lot of information," says the Wife on the way back to St. Joe.
"We don't know no more about 'em now than before we come."
"We know their politics," I says.
"How?" she ast me.
"From the looks of 'em," I says. "They're unanimous for Hughes."
We found Bess all alone, settin' in the lobby o' the hotel.
"Where's your honey man?" I ast her.
She turned up her nose.
"Don't call him my honey man or my anything else," she says.
"Why, what's the matter?" ast the Missus.
"Nothin' at all's the matter," she says.
"Maybe just a lovers' quarrel," says I.
"No, and no lovers' quarrel, neither," says Bess. "They couldn't be no
lovers' quarrel, because they ain't no lovers."
"You had me fooled, then," I says. "I'd of swore that you and Bishop was
just like that."
"You made a big mistake," says Bessie. "I never cared nothin' for him
and he never cared nothin' for me, because he's incapable o' carin' for
anything--only himself."
"Why, Bess," says the Missus, "you told me just yesterday mornin' that
you was practically engaged!"
"I don't care what I told you," she says; "but I'm tellin' you somethin'
now: I don't never want to hear of him or see him again. And you'll do
me a favor if you'll drop the subject."
"But where is he?" I ast her.
"I don't know and I don't care!" she says.
"But I got to find him," I says. "He's my guest."
"You can have him," she says.
I found him up in his room. The bell boy had got him somethin', and it
wasn't poison, neither. At least I haven't never died of it.
"Well, Bishop," I says, "finish it up and come down-stairs. Bess and the
Wife'll want some supper."
"You'll have to excuse me," he says. "I don't feel like eatin' a thing."
"But you can come down and set with us," I says. "Bess will be sore if
you don't."
"Listen here!" he says. "You've took too much for granted. They's
nothin' between your sister-in-law and I. If you've set your heart on us
bein' somethin' more'n friends, I'm sorry. But they's not a chance."
"Bishop," I says, "this is a blow to me. It comes like a shock."
And to keep myself from faintin' I took the bottle from his dresser and
completed its ruin.
"You won't even come down and set with us?" I says.
"No," says Bishop. "And, if you don't mind, you can give me my ticket
back home and I'll stroll down to the dock and meet you on the boat."
"Here's your ticket," says I.
"And where am I goin' to sleep?" he says.
"Well," I says, "I'll get you a stateroom if you really want it; but
it's goin' to be a bad night, and if you was in one o' them berths, and
somethin' happened, you wouldn't have a chance in the world!"
"You ain't goin' to have no berth, yourself?" he ast me.
"I should say not!" I says. "I'm goin' to get me a chair and sleep in
the water-tight compartments."
Boys, my prophecy come true. They was more roll on old Lake Michigan
that night than in all them books up to the Holy Roller Skaters' park.
And if the boat was filled to capacity just thirteen hundred of us was
fatally ill.
I don't think it was the rollin' that got me. It was one glimpse of all
the Jennies and their offsprings, and the wealthy Greek shoe shiners,
and the millionaire truck drivers, and the heiresses from the Lace
Department--layin' hither and thither in the cabins and on the decks,
breathin' their last. And how they must of felt to think that all their
outlay for crackerjack and apples was a total loss!
But Bishop wasn't sick. I searched the boat from the back to the stern
and he wasn't aboard. I guess probably he found out some way that they
was such an institution as the Pere Marquette, which gets into Chicago
without touchin' them perilous copper ranges. But whether he arrived
safe or not I don't know, because I've never saw him from that day to
this, and I've lived happy ever afterward.
And my investment, amountin' all told to just about what he owes me,
turned out even better than I'd hoped for. Bess went back to Wabash that
Monday afternoon.
At supper Monday night, which was the first meal the Missus could face,
she says:
"I haven't got it figured out yet. Bess swears they didn't have no
quarrel; but I'll take an oath they was in love with each other. What
could of happened?"
"I know what happened," I says. "They got acquainted!"