Give up yourself merely to chance and hazard.—_Othello_, iii,
7.
The Matrimonial Bureau had proved successful in meeting the demands of
two of its clients, but the third name on its records still baffled Miss
Adams. It seemed to her that the only possible mate for Helen Fairbanks
was a being so far above and beyond the ordinary mortal that it would be
impossible to find him outside the glass doors of her mahogany
bookcases.
“He might be in there,” she thought, looking toward a favorite corner
where the fairy books were, “or even in there,” she added, as she
glanced at the Thackeray shelf; “but one thing is certain, he never
would be in a newspaper, so there’s no use looking there. I suppose he’s
in the directory, but I don’t know what letter his name begins with, so
I can’t find him there. I don’t know how I shall find him. I don’t
believe there are many of that type of men in the world. The only one I
ever knew was a woman. Cousin Emily Westcott—of the Chester Adams
branch—is just the kind of person I mean. It’s a pity she is a woman,
though of course she is too old for Helen. Let me see,—Cousin Emily
must be sixty by now; she had four boys, and nice, well-behaved young
chaps they were. I wonder if they are all married. I remember sending
Roger his piece of the old Adams silver two years ago, and Emily wrote
that Hugh was engaged. Still, that leaves two, and if they take after
their mother they’re just the kind of men I want. I will write to her,
too, and I’m sure one of them will be all right for Helen. They’re
Adamses, anyway.”
The president of the Matrimonial Bureau now resigned the chair in favor
of the secretary, and Miss Esther began the clerical work. She wrote
first to Lieutenant Putnam Adams and invited him to spend his vacation
with her that summer. “I do not know,” she wrote, “whether the state of
the country is such as to allow officers of the army anything like
vacations, but if there is any for you this summer, please come up and
visit your old cousin. I haven’t seen a real live Adams for a long time,
and I want to thank you for the cast. Even if your visit must be a short
one, I hope you can come, and come soon.”
To her cousin Emily Westcott Miss Esther wrote very frankly, saying that
Lieutenant Putnam Adams was coming to visit her, and asking that one of
the two younger Westcott boys come at the same time. She informed Mrs.
Westcott that she wished her to send the one who was most distinctly an
Adams, and said further that she would trust the mother’s judgment in
the matter.
“But they’re _all_ Adams—both of them!” exclaimed Mrs. Westcott, as she
read this letter. “I’ll have to send them both!”
Miss Esther’s letter to Hiram Briggs, the philanthropist of Nashua, was
a more trying ordeal. For once in her life she found it difficult to
express herself, and it was nearly midnight when she completed the
following business-like if unconventional epistle:—
WHITFIELD, June 22.