Fire-Engine Senator M. P. Hagen.
The Arts and Sciences. (Represented by the portable printing-press of
the Port aux Pins _Eagle_; wagons from the mines loaded with iron ore;
and the drays, coal-carts, and milk-wagons in a procession, adorned with
streamers of pink tarlatan)."
Cicely watched the procession from the windows of Paul's office,
laughing constantly. When Hollis passed, sitting stiffly erect in his
carriage--he was the "Reader of the Declaration of Independence"--she
threw a bouquet at him, and compelled him to bow; Hollis was adorned
with a broad scarf of white satin, fastened on the right shoulder with
the national colors.
"I am going to the public square to hear him read," Cicely announced,
suddenly. "Paul, you must take me. And you must go too, grandpa."
"I will keep out of the rabble, I think," said the judge.
"Oh, come on; I dare say you have never heard the thing read through in
your life," suggested Paul, laughing.
"The Declaration of Independence? My grandfather, sir, was a signer!"
The one church bell (Baptist) and the two little fire bells were
jangling merrily when they reached the street. People were hurrying
towards the square; many of them were delegates from neighboring towns
who had accompanied their fire-engines to Port aux Pins on this, the
nation's birthday. White dresses were abundant; the favorite refreshment
was a lemon partially scooped out, the hollow filled with lemon candy.
When they reached the square Paul established Cicely on the top of a
fence, standing behind to steady her; and presently the procession
appeared, wheeling slowly in, and falling into position in a half-circle
before the main stand, the gayly decorated fire-engines in front, with
the Carnival of Venice and the Goddess of Liberty, one at each end. The
clergy, the mayor and common council, the orator of the day, were
escorted to their places on the stand, and the ceremonies opened.
By-and-by came the turn of Hollis. In a high voice he began:
"When in the _course_--of human _events_, it becomes necessary for one
people to dissolve the political bands which have connected them with
_another_--"
"Cheer!" whispered Cicely to Paul.
Paul, entering into it, set up hurrahs with so much vigor that all the
people near him joined in patriotically, to the confusion of the reader,
who went on, however, as well as he could:
"We hold these _truths_--to be self-_evident_, that all men are created
_equal_--"
"Again," murmured Cicely.
And again Paul's corner burst forth irrepressibly, followed after a
moment by the entire assemblage, glad to be doing something in a vocal
way on their own account, and determined to have their money's worth of
everything, noise and all.
And so, from "the present king of Great Britain" to "our lives, our
forrchuns, and our sacrred _honor_" on it went, a chorus of hurrahs
growing louder and louder until they became roars.
"I knew it was you," Hollis said to Paul, when, later, his official
duties over, and his satin scarf removed, he appeared at the cottage to
talk it over.
"But say, did you notice the widows of our fallen heroes? They had a
sort of glare under their crape. You see, once we had eight of 'em, but
this year there is only one left; all the rest have married again. Now
it happens that this very year the Soldiers' Monument is done at last,
and naturally the committee wanted the widows to ride in the procession.
The one widow who was left declared that she would not ride all alone;
she said it would look as though no one had asked her, whereas she had
had at least three good offers. So the committee went to the others and
asked them to dress up as former widows, just for to-day. So they did;
and lots of people cried when they came along, two and two, all in
black, so pathetic." He sprang up to greet Eve, who was entering, and
the foot-board entangled itself with his feet, after the peculiarly
insidious fashion of extension-chairs. "Instrument of torture!" he said,
grinning.
"I will leave it to you in my will," declared Paul. "And it is just as
well to say it now, before witnesses, because I am going away
to-morrow."
"To-morrow!" said Cicely.
"Only to Lakeville on business. I shall be back the day before I start
south."
"There go the last few hours!" thought Eve.
The third evening after, Hollis came up the path to Paul's door. The
judge, Eve, Cicely, and Porley with Jack, were sitting on the steps,
after the Port aux Pins fashion. They had all been using their best
blandishments to induce Master Jack to go to bed; but that young
gentleman refused; he played patty-cake steadily with Porley, looking at
the others out of the corner of his eye; and if Porley made the least
attempt to rise, he set up loud bewailings, with his face screwed, but
without a tear. It was suspected that these were pure artifice; and not
one of his worshippers could help admiring his sagacity. They altogether
refrained from punishing it.
"I was at the post-office, so I thought I'd just inquire for you," said
Hollis. "There was only one letter; it's for Miss Bruce."
Eve took the letter and put it in her pocket. She had recognized the
handwriting instantly.
Hollis, who also knew the handwriting, began to praise himself in his
own mind as rapidly as he could for bringing it. "It was a good thing to
do, and a kind thing; you must manage jobs like that for her often, C.
Hollis. Then you'll be sure that you ain't, yourself, a plumb fool. She
doesn't open it? Of course she doesn't. Sit down, and stop your jawing!"
Eve did not open her letter until she reached her own room. It was
eleven o'clock; when she was safely behind her bolted door, she took it
from its envelope and read it. She read it and re-read it; holding it in
her hand, she pondered over it. She was standing by the mantelpiece
because her lamp was there. After a while she became half conscious that
the soles of her feet were aching; she bore it some time longer, still
half consciously. When it was one o'clock she sat down. The letter was
as follows:
"DEAR EVE,--Now that I am away from her, I can see that Cicely is
not so well as we have thought. All that laughing yesterday morning
wasn't natural; I am afraid that she will break down completely
when I start south. So I write to suggest that you take her off for
a trip of ten days or so; you might go to St. Paul. Then she
needn't see me at all, and it really would be better.
"As to seeing you again--
"Yours sincerely, PAUL TENNANT."
"Why did he write, 'As to seeing you again,' and then stop? What was it
that he had intended to say, and why did he leave it unfinished? 'As to
seeing you again--' Supposing it had been, 'As to seeing you again, I
dread it!' But no, he would never say that; he doesn't dread
anything--me least of all! Probably it was only, 'As to seeing you
again, there would be nothing gained by it; it would be for such a short
time.'"
But imagination soon took flight anew. "Possibly, remembering that day
in the wood, he was going to write, 'As to seeing you again, do you wish
to see me? Is it really true that you care for me a little? It was so
brave to tell it! A petty spirit could never have done it.' But no, that
is not what he would have thought; he likes the other kind of
women--those who do not tell." She laid her head down upon her arms.
Presently she began again: "He had certainly intended to write something
which he found himself unable to finish; the broken sentence tells that.
What could it have been? Any ordinary sentence, like, 'As to seeing you
again, it is not necessary, as you know already my plans,'--if it had
been anything like that, he _would_ have finished it; it would have been
easy to do so. No; it was something different. Oh, if it could only have
been, 'As to seeing you again, I _must_ see you, it must be managed in
some way; I cannot go without a leave-taking!'" She sat up; her eyes
were now radiant and sweet. Their glance happened to fall upon her
watch, which was lying, case open, upon the table. Four o'clock. "I have
sat here all night! I am losing my wits." She undressed rapidly,
angrily. Clad in white, she stood brushing her hair, her supple figure
taking, all unconsciously, enchanting postures as she now held a long
lock at arm's-length, and now, putting her right hand over her shoulder,
brushed out the golden mass that fell from the back of her head to her
knees. "But he must have intended to write something unusual, even if
not of any of the things I have been thinking of; then he changed his
mind. That is the only solution of his leaving it unfinished--the only
possible solution." This thought still filled her heart when daylight
came.
The evening before, sitting in the bar-room of the Star Hotel,
Lakeville, Paul had written his letter. He had got as far as, "Then she
needn't see me at all, and it really would be better. As to seeing you
again," when a voice said, "Hello, Tennant!--busy?"
"Nothing important," replied Paul, pushing back the sheet of paper.
The visitor shook hands; then he seated himself, astride, on one of the
bar-room chairs, facing the wooden back, which he hugged tightly. He had
come to talk about Paul's Clay County iron; he had one or two ideas
about it which he thought might come to something.
Paul, too, thought that they might come to something when he heard what
they were. He was excited; he began to jot down figures on the envelope
which he had intended for Eve. Finally he and the new-comer went out
together; before going he put the letter in his pocket.
When he came in, it was late. "First mail to Port aux Pins?" he
inquired.
"Five o'clock to-morrow morning," replied the drowsy waiter.
"Must finish it to-night, then," he thought. He took out the crumpled
sheet, and, opening it, read through what he had written. "What was it I
was going to add?" He tried to recall the train of thought. But he was
sleepy (as Hollis said, Paul had a genius for sleep); besides, his mind
was occupied by the new business plan. "I haven't the slightest idea
what I was going to say.--A clear profit of fifty thousand in four
years; that isn't bad. Ferdie will need a good deal. Ye-ough!" (a yawn).
"What _was_ it I was going to say?--I can't imagine. Well, it couldn't
have been important, in any case. I'll just sign it, and let it go." So
he wrote, "Yours sincerely, Paul Tennant;" and went to bed.