It may be that we shall meet there by chance some day, but I don't
believe you can make up your mind to go there this week.
I'm afraid not, he assented ruefully. I suppose it's hard for you to
understand.
I understand well enough, I replied, but under the circumstances you
will have to travel alone or get some one else to go with you. While
you are deciding, my leave of absence will expire.
A few days later he telephoned me.
I'm really going to Bermuda, was his message. I've had bookings on
every boat sailing for Europe the past week and cancelled them all. My
first idea was the right one. Bermuda is a change, it's near at hand,
and I can get back quickly if I don't like it. Come to Bermuda with me,
Carl!
When are you sailing? I asked. I'll come down to see you off.
On the day set, I went to the wharf, and to my great surprise, found
Peter there, just as he had promised he would be, an hour before
sailing time. If he kept an engagement at all, he always kept it
on time. He had made preparations, buying new summer clothes, he
explained, and a new innovation trunk. As he never knew how long he
would stay in one place or where he would go from there, he always
carried a great deal of apparently unnecessary baggage. This time he
had five trunks with him and several bags, including two for the
cats. As we stood on the wharf together, we saw these trunks being
hoisted aboard. Then we walked up the gang-plank and went to seek out
his cabin. He did not like it, of course, and he hunted up the purser
and asked to be transferred to another part of the boat. The ship was
crowded and no other cabin was vacant, but the purser, spurred to extra
effort by the tip which Peter handed him, promised to try to get him
one of the officers' rooms. A little later this transfer was effected
and, before I left the boat, Peter was installed in his new quarters.
As I bade him farewell, I thought he looked a little wistful. I watched
the boat pull out into the river.
Five hours later, as I was working in the tower of the New York Times,
I was called to the telephone.
I said, Hello, and almost dropped the receiver, for I had heard Peter's
voice from the other end of the wire.
I'm back on East Broadway, he groaned. Do come down.
When I arrived, I found him propped up in bed, drinking tea, which he
shared with me.
I just couldn't go! It wouldn't have been right to go feeling the way I
did about it. Something dreadful would have happened.
But I saw the boat cast off her moorings.
Peter grinned.
We were steaming down the river. I was very tired and, having the
desire to rest in bed, I began to undress. Suddenly it came over me
that I had made a great mistake. I put my clothes on again rapidly,
dashed to the deck, and hunted up the purser. You know, he had already
befriended me. I told him that I had just opened my mail and my
telegrams and had run across one informing me of the violent illness
of my father--you know how much that would really worry me!--and that
I _must_ go back. He informed me that this was impossible, but another
bill--a very large one this time--made him more sympathetic and my
disembarkation was arranged with the aid of a tug-boat. I even got my
trunks off, but I had to cry a good deal to do that. I'm very sorry for
you, Mr. Whiffle, the purser said. He will never forget me, I'm sure.
The telephone rang. Peter lifted the receiver from the hook and I
heard him say, Please reserve me a deck cabin on the Kronprinz Wilhelm
sailing tomorrow. He turned, as he put the receiver back: I'm not crazy
about the North German Lloyd but I've already sailed this week on the
French Line, the Holland-American, the Cunard, and the White Star. I
had to change.
By telephone the next day, I learned that Peter had _not_ sailed on the
Kronprinz Wilhelm.
Do you know, he said, I've hit on a solution. I could not decide where
to go--every place has its faults--but it has occurred to me that I am
not compelled to go anywhere; I can stay on right here!
There is still a pendant to this part of my tale. In May, Peter
informed me that he had rented a house on Long Island, a small cottage
near Great Neck, with a big fire-place and furniture that would do.
He took me out with him the first night. He had engaged a man and
his wife, Negroes, to care for the place and cook. We enjoyed a very
good dinner and he seemed to have settled down for the summer but in
the morning, at breakfast, I, and the Negroes, learned that he was
dissatisfied.
I don't like the place much, he explained, at least, I don't think I
do. At least, I'm not going to stay here.
He paid the servants two weeks wages and dismissed them. Then he
telephoned an expressman to call for his trunks, none of which had been
opened. Carrying the bags, two of which contained cats, we caught the 9
o'clock train back to town.
Before this last fluctuation, some time in April, I think it was,
Peter's father really did die. Peter did not go to Toledo for the
funeral but, after it was over, Mrs. Whiffle came to New York and I met
her one day at tea. There was no change in Peter; certainly not a band
of black on his arm.
He did seem to have one fixed idea that spring, an idea that centred on
marriage.
I'm not particularly in love with any one, he admitted, and so it is
rather difficult to choose, but I want children and my children must
have a mother. There is Mahalah Wiggins ... and there is the Rajah's
grand-daughter. Well, I don't know that they will marry me, but I must
decide what I am going to do before I give them a chance to decide what
they are going to do!
A week or so later: I've been considering this question of marriage.
It's a serious step. I can't rush into a thing like that. Mahalah
doesn't like cats. You know, I couldn't give up my cats. I can't marry
a woman who doesn't like cats. Luckily I haven't asked her.
A few days later: I will marry Mahalah, I think. She understands me;
she doesn't seem to mind the crazy things I do. She is beginning to
like the cats. She is healthy and she might produce fine children.
Another interval and then: She has accepted me. Isn't it wonderful for
her to love me at my age for my money alone!
The preparations for the wedding were portentous, although it was to
be celebrated as quietly as possible. There were clothes to buy and an
apartment to be furnished. He left the decision of the day and place
to Mahalah--fortunately that was her affair--but there was endless
discussion about the honeymoon. He considered in turn nearly every spot
on the globe, including Patagonia and Abyssinia. As the day in May set
for the ceremony approached, Maine was mentioned rather more frequently
than any other locality, but I had no real conviction that they would
ultimately go there. I was to be the sole attendant at the wedding.
That much seemed to be settled.
The great day dawned and brought with it a windy rain. I knew that
Peter detested windy days; one of his superstitions associated them
with disaster. He did not telephone me in the morning and his silence
seemed ominous. Nevertheless, I put on a morning coat and a silk hat
and presented myself at his rooms an hour before the minute set for
the ceremony, which was to be celebrated in a little church in the
neighbourhood. On another day, I would not have been surprised to find
a note from Peter instead of himself but when, on reaching the top
landing, I discovered the door open, and an old charwoman, packing
up books and bowls inside, handed me a note with the superfluous
information that Mr. Whiffle had gone away, my knees shook to such an
extent that I wondered if I had suddenly become afflicted with tabes.