Probably nothing ever gave rise to more comment in Radville than Betty
Graham's departure to spend the winter at a boarding-school near
Philadelphia. Hardly anyone knew anything about it--in fact, the rumour
of it was just being noised about and contemptuously discredited on all
hands--when Tracey galloped down Main Street Monday morning with the
news that she had left on the early train. He himself had remained in
ignorance of the impending event until requested to carry Betty's bag
down to the station....
She left under convoy of a certain Mrs. Hamilton, who lived in
Philadelphia and had been visiting her cousin, Mrs. Will Bigelow.
Duncan had met this lady at a church sociable and, apparently, taken a
liking to her; for he prevailed upon her, via Sam Graham and Will
Bigelow, to see the girl safely to her school, after superintending the
purchase of a suitable wardrobe in Philadelphia.
So Betty was gone--herself, I believe, no less surprised and
incredulous than the rest of us.
Radville was at first stupefied, then clamorous; but there was little
information to be got out of old Sam. I found him busy working on his
new model and much preoccupied with that. When interrogated and given
to understand that I would not be put off, he roused a bit, but beyond
being unquestionably a very happy man, seemed himself slightly dazed by
the amazing circumstances. I learned from him that Nat had evidently
made all his plans in advance, but had withheld his announcement of
them until the Saturday prior to that Monday; and then he had fairly
whirled Betty and her father off their feet and left them no time to
think or to raise objections.
"There's no use at all arguing with that boy," Sam told me, with the
fond smile that I was beginning to recognise as the invariable
accompaniment of his thoughts about Nat; "when he says a thing must
be, it must. When he first came here I told him he was a wonderful
business man, and he laughed at me, but now I know he is. Why, he gave
Betty a hundred dollars to buy clothes with in Philadelphia, and said
he'd have more for her by Christmas, besides paying all the expenses of
that school--which must be considerable. I don't see how the store's
going to stand the strain--though it's doing splendidly since he came
in, splendidly!--but he says it's all right, and so it must be...."
Duncan himself refused to be interviewed. He told everybody who had
the impudence to mention the matter to him, that it was Mr. Graham's
affair: Mr. Graham was a substantial business man, he said, and if he
chose to send his daughter away to school he had a perfect right to do
so. I don't believe even Josie Lockwood got more than that out of him,
for if she had we would have heard of it; and Josie was unmistakably a
little jealous, and undoubtedly questioned Nat.
One direct result of it all was to hasten Josie's own leave-taking. It
would never do to let the Grahams eclipse the Lockwoods, you see. Josie
had been talking of going to a school in Maryland, but Betty's move to
a fashionable centre like Philadelphia made her change her mind; and
arrangements were made by which Josie was able to go Betty one better:
a young ladies' seminary in New York City itself received Josie. She
left us bereaved about a week after Betty vanished from our ken, but
promised to be back for the Christmas holidays--an announcement which
Duncan received with expressions of chastened joy, as he did her
promise to write to him regularly, in return for his covenant to
respond promptly.... Betty, by the way, had made no such arrangement;
but she wrote twice a week to old Sam, and I understand she never
failed to include a message to Nat.
Betty was happy, she protested in every communication, and wholly
content. She was getting along. The other girls liked her and she liked
them (these statements being made in the order of their relative
importance). Lots of them, of course, were frightfully swell (Betty
annexed "frightfully" at school, by the by) and had all sorts of
clothes; but Betty was perfectly content with her modest outfit, and
none of the other girls seemed to mind how she dressed. They were all
kind and nice, and she'd never had such a good time.... I quote these
expressions from memory of Sam's digest of her letters.
Of Josie I heard less; I know that Graham and Duncan's mail seldom
lacked a personal communication to Duncan, postmarked at New York; our
postmaster told me so. But Duncan was reticent, and the Lockwoods said
little. I gathered an impression that Josie was not altogether happy
in her new surroundings.... One inferred there was a difference between
New York and Philadelphia, that one was less friendly and sociable
than the other.
Josie kept her promise and came home for Christmas. She was reticent as
to her impressions of the New York seminary, but seemed extremely glad
to be home, notwithstanding the fact that Nat had apparently contracted
no disturbing alliances with the other belles of our village. And
Roland remained true--a reliable second string to Josie's bow. Roland
was working hard at the bank, with an application that earned Blinky
Lockwood's regard and outspoken approbation; and his Christmas raiment
proved the sensation of the season. But none of us believed he had any
chance against Duncan: Josie's attitude toward the latter was such
that we confidently anticipated the announcement of their engagement
before she went away again. But it didn't come, for some reason. We
bore up under the disappointment bravely, all things considered,
sustained by a very secure feeling that the proclamation couldn't be
long deferred.
In passing, I should mention that Betty didn't come home once
throughout the entire school term. The Christmas and Easter holidays
she spent with a girl friend at her Philadelphia home.
Meanwhile, life in our town simmered gently. Things went on much as
they might have been expected to. I don't recall much essential to this
narrative, in the way of events; and part of the ground I've covered on
earlier pages. Duncan continued to make progress: for one thing, I
recall that he put in hot soda with whipped cream, which helped a lot
to hold the trade regained in the summer from Sothern and Lee. And he
bought a new soda fountain, a very magnificent affair, installing it in
the early spring. Graham and Duncan's, in short, became a town
institution: to it Radville pointed with pride....
He remained reserved, retiring, inconspicuous, and puzzling to our
understanding. In his effort (never very successful) to strike off the
shackles of modern slang, he fell into a way of speech that bewildered
those unable to realise what an abiding sense of humour underlay it--as
water runs beneath ice--more, I think, a matter of intonation and
significant silences, than a mere play upon words and phrases; which,
coupled with an unshakable sobriety of demeanour, furnished us with
wonder and some admiration, but no resentment. We liked him pretty
well and mostly unanimously: he was a good fellow, if queer; entitled
to his idiosyncrasy, if he chose to keep one....
There was a certain night, by way of illustration--a bitter night,
along toward the first of January--when trade was dull, as it always is
after Christmas, and there was nobody in the store save Nat and Tracey.
Each had their task, whatever it may have been, and each was busied
with it, but of the two Tracey seemed the more restless. His ample, if
low, forehead was decidedly corrugated; his always rosy face owned an
added trace of scarlet--a flush of perturbation; his chubby hands were
inexpert, clumsy. He stumbled, fumbled, forgot and (in our homely
phrase) flummoxed generally; his mind was elsewhere, and his hands and
feet went anywhere but where they should have gone: a condition which
eventually excited Duncan's attention.