I
I could have taken "No" like a man, and would have gone away
decently and never bothered her again. I told her so straight
out in the first angry flush of my rejection--but this string
business, with everything left hanging in the air, so to speak,
made a fellow feel like thirty cents.
"It simply means that I'm engaged and you are not," I said.
"It's nothing of the kind," she returned tearfully. "You're as
free as free, Ezra. You can go away this moment, and never
write, or anything!"
Her lips trembled as she said this, and I confess it gave me a
kind of savage pleasure to feel that it was still in my power to
hurt her.
It may sound unkind, but still you must admit that the whole
situation was exasperating. Here was five-foot-five of
exquisite, blooming, twenty-year-old American girlhood sending
away the man she confessed to care for, because, forsooth, she
would not marry before her elder sister! I always thought it was
beautiful of Freddy (she was named Frederica, you know) to be
always so sweet and tender and grateful about Eleanor; but
sometimes gratitude can be carried altogether too far, even if
you are an orphan, and were brought up by hand. Eleanor was
thirty-four if a day--a nice enough woman, of course, and college
bred, and cultivated, and clever--but her long suit wasn't good
looks. She was tall and bony; worshiped genius and all that; and
played the violin.
"No," repeated Freddy, "I shall never, never marry before Eleanor.
It would mortify her--I know it would--and make her feel that she
herself had failed. She's awfully frank about those things,
Ezra--surprisingly frank. I don't see why being an old maid is
always supposed to be so funny, do you? It's touching and tragic
in a woman who'd like to marry and who isn't asked!"
"But Eleanor must have had heaps of offers," I said, "surely--"
"Just one."
"Well, one's something," I remarked cheerfully. "Why didn't she
take him then?"
"She told me only last night that she was sorry she hadn't!"
Here, at any rate, was something to chew on. I saw a gleam of
hope. Why shouldn't Eleanor marry the only one--and make us all
happy!
"That was three years ago," said Freddy.
"I have loved you for four," I retorted. I was cross with
disappointment. To be dashed to the ground, you know, just as I
was beginning--"Tell me some more about him," I went on. I'm a
plain business man and hang on to an idea like a bulldog; once I
get my teeth in they stay in, for all you may drag at me and
wallop me with an umbrella--metaphorically speaking, of course.
"Tell me his name, where he lives, and all."
"We were coming back from Colorado, and there was some mistake
about our tickets. They sold our Pullman drawing-room twice
over--to Doctor Jones and his mother, and also to ourselves. You
never saw such a fight--and that led to our making friends, and
his proposing to Eleanor!"
"Then why in Heaven's name didn't she" (it was on the tip of my
tongue to say "jump at him ") "take him?"
"She said she couldn't marry a man who was her intellectual
inferior."
"And was he?"
"Oh, he was a perfect idiot--but nice, and all that, and
tremendously in love with her. Pity, wasn't it?"
"The obvious thing to do is to chase him up instantly. Where did
you say he lived?"
"His mother told me he was going to New York to practise
medicine."
"But didn't you ever hear from him again? I mean, was that the
end of it all?"
"Yes?"
"Then you don't even know if he has married since?"
"No,"
"Nor died?"
"No."
"Nor anything at all?"
"No."
"What was his first name?"
"Wait a moment . . . let me think yes, it was Harry."
"Just Harry Jones, then, New York City?"
Freddy laughed forlornly.
"But he must have had antecedents," I cried out. "There are two
ways of doing this Sherlock Holmes business--backward and
forward, you know. Let's take Doctor Jones backward. As they
say in post-office forms--what was his place of origin?"
"New York City."
"He begins there and ends there, does he, then?"
"Yes."
"But how sure are you that Eleanor would marry him if I did
manage to find him and bring him back?"
"I'm not sure at all."
"No, but Freddy, listen--it's important. You told me yourself
that she--I want the very identical words she used."
Freddy reflected.
"She said she was almost sorry she hadn't accepted that silly
doctor!"
"That doesn't seem much, does it?" I remarked gloomily.
"Oh, from Eleanor it does, Ezra. She said it quite seriously.
She always hides her feelings under a veil of sarcastic humor,
you know."
"You're certainly a very difficult family to marry," I said.
"Being an orphan--" she began.
"Well, I'm going to find that Jones if I--"
"Ezra, dear boy, you're crazy. How could you think for a moment
that--"
"I'm off, little girl. Good-by!"
"Wait a second, Ezra!"
She rose and went into the next room, reappearing with something
in her hand. She was crying and smiling both at once. I took
the little case she gave me--it was like one of those things that
pen-knives are put in and looked at her for an explanation.
"It's the h-h-hindleg of a j-j-jack-rabbit," she said, "shot by a
g-g-grave at the f-f-full of the moon. It's supposed to be l-l-lucky.
It was given to me by a naval officer who got drowned. It's the
only way I can h-h-help you!"
And thus equipped I started bravely for New York.