"Hide, oh, hide those hills of snowThat thy frozen bosom bears,On whose tops the pinks that growAre of those that April wears."
"Hide, oh, hide those hills of snowThat thy frozen bosom bears,On whose tops the pinks that growAre of those that April wears."
Venus rose from the sea, with all the appearance of absolute nudity. The glorious curves of the tempter of Tannhauser were revealed in their fullness to cultured audiences. The North Star came down that men might admire her shapeliness, while the three Graces proved Byron's words:—
"There is more beauty in the ripe and realThan all the nonsense of their stone ideal."
"There is more beauty in the ripe and realThan all the nonsense of their stone ideal."
And then a daring manager went all this one better. He posed his women as bronze figures, with nothing between them and the gaze of the audience but bronze powder. The sensation lasted but a short time, spectators not caring for mulatoes when there were white forms to be seen at the same price. Next came the "Wedding Night," which I saw in Paris, and which still seems to me comparatively sweet and innocent—and it was suppressed, perhaps for that very reason. And now we have "Charmion"—meat for strong minds, but not, I fear, for the average young man.
What will come next? I would not dare predict, but really within ten years we may expect anything. "The leaves are falling—even the fig leaves," says George Meredith. They have fallen long ago from most of the male statues in European galleries, and there at least I am in accord with the sculptors. Perfect nudity never stirred the beast in any sane man. Why should we not have afternoon or evening receptions by professional models in their native undress? It would be better for morality than the ingenious titillation of the senses induced by your Edwinas and your Charmions!
Confound Charmion, any way! She spoiled a night for me that I needed for refreshing sleep. In my brief snatches of slumber I was with those silly fellows in the front rows, clutching wildly in the air for the garters she flung from her perch above our heads.
YOU ARE A HOPELESS SCAMP.
Without even waiting for letters at the Herald office, in answer to my advertisement, I went on Saturday morning to Cook & Son's, on Broadway, and engaged two staterooms on the steamship "Madiana," of the Quebec SS. Company's line, to sail January 12. I found that I could secure both rooms, and, if it proved that I needed but one, the amount of passage money paid in advance—one hundred dollars—could be applied to mine alone. This pleased the remnant of Scotch blood left in my veins, for my relations have always said I "favored" my mother's side of the family, and she was a native of France. Though careless enough with money, I did not wish to pay for a stateroom that nobody would occupy, and there was a possibility that I would go alone, after all. The clerk, an affable fellow, promised to hold the extra room until the 5th of January, and to write me when it became necessary to put up the balance of the price or surrender the rights I had in it. I thought, on the whole, it was a sensible business transaction.
"What name shall I register for the lady's room?" he asked, taking up a pen.
"I am uncertain," I said, hesitating. "Thereare several of the family, and I don't know which it will be finally."
"I will call it 'Miss Camran,' then," he said.
There seemed no objection to this, and he wrote the name in his book.
Arming myself with a handful of literature about the Islands, that he gave me, and which contained little information I was not already possessed of, I went back to my rooms and took a look at my wardrobe. I decided that I should want one or two new suits, of the very coolest texture, besides thin underclothing, some outing shirts, a couple of pairs of light shoes, etc. On Monday I began a search for these things, and found them with more difficulty than I anticipated. In midwinter few New York tradesmen are able to furnish thin clothing with celerity, and my time was growing short. I visited half a dozen shops before I could get fitted with shoes of the right weight, for instance. There were long hunts for underflannels and hose. The tailors offered me anything but thin weights, until I persisted and would not be put off, and then I had to select the goods by sample. With some extra light pajamas, a gauzy bathrobe, a lot of new collars and cuffs, and an extra dozen of colored bosom shirts, I thought myself at last nearly ready. I urged upon each dealer the necessity of sending his articles at the earliest possible moment, thinking it wisest to deceive him a little about the day I was to sail. The event proved this the only way I succeeded in getting them all delivered in season.
It was with more excitement than was good for methat I took a hansom on Tuesday morning, at an early hour, and drove to the up-town office of the Herald. I expected a number of answers to my advertisement and wanted to take them home as expeditiously as possible. Nor was I disappointed. The clerk handed me out not less than a hundred and fifty envelopes, when I presented the card that had been given me, and he was kind enough to tie them in bundles at my request. Twenty minutes later I was in my sitting room, the door locked for fear of intrusion, and tearing open one after another with the hunger of curiosity.
The first five or six were not at all satisfactory. They contained little beside requests for "further particulars," and had a business-like air that did not suit my mood. Then came one that was interesting enough to be put in the reserve pile from which the final decision was to be made. Perhaps I may as well give it now in its entirety:
Dear Mr. 107—[that was the number the Herald had assigned me]—Although your announcement does not state your sex, I feel justified in assuming that you are a Man. "Lady" Typewriter! Well, as far as I know I answer that description, and now for the situation. "To travel in the Tropics?" I certainly have no objection to doing that, provided—! You say the "duties are light." Certainly that sounds encouraging. What do they consist of—actual typewriting or keeping dull care from drawing wrinkles on your manly brow? Typewriters are called upon to do such strange things in these days. The individual whose bread I now earn seems to consider that he has a right (in consideration of twelve dollars per week) to kiss me whenever he takes a fancy, which is the reason whyI am seeking another employer, who, if he has the same tastes, may have a more attractive mouth for the purpose. How long is your journey to last and what pay do you intend to offer?I am twenty-six years of age, not specially ill looking, and have a good temper unless angered. I won't say much about my ability on the machine, for I presume that is a secondary consideration. Send your reply—if you think me worth it—to No. — East Sixteenth Street, but don't call in person unless you wish to have an interview with a gouty uncle or a frightfully jealous cousin.Ever Yours,ALICE BRAZIER.N.B. If you take me off with you, I shall let neither of them know where I have gone.
Dear Mr. 107—[that was the number the Herald had assigned me]—Although your announcement does not state your sex, I feel justified in assuming that you are a Man. "Lady" Typewriter! Well, as far as I know I answer that description, and now for the situation. "To travel in the Tropics?" I certainly have no objection to doing that, provided—! You say the "duties are light." Certainly that sounds encouraging. What do they consist of—actual typewriting or keeping dull care from drawing wrinkles on your manly brow? Typewriters are called upon to do such strange things in these days. The individual whose bread I now earn seems to consider that he has a right (in consideration of twelve dollars per week) to kiss me whenever he takes a fancy, which is the reason whyI am seeking another employer, who, if he has the same tastes, may have a more attractive mouth for the purpose. How long is your journey to last and what pay do you intend to offer?
I am twenty-six years of age, not specially ill looking, and have a good temper unless angered. I won't say much about my ability on the machine, for I presume that is a secondary consideration. Send your reply—if you think me worth it—to No. — East Sixteenth Street, but don't call in person unless you wish to have an interview with a gouty uncle or a frightfully jealous cousin.
Ever Yours,
ALICE BRAZIER.
N.B. If you take me off with you, I shall let neither of them know where I have gone.
This was bright and breezy, at least. The next one that I laid aside was as follows:
Dear Sir:—I am a Southern girl, if one who has reached the age of 22 may so call herself. I have a good education and am refined in manner. I have no doubt I can fill all the requirements of the position you offer, and would be pleased to have you call, Wednesday afternoon, between two and four, at my lodgings, or on any other afternoon you may name. Please grant me at least an interview.Very Truly,MARJORIE MAY.No. — W. 45th Street.
Dear Sir:—I am a Southern girl, if one who has reached the age of 22 may so call herself. I have a good education and am refined in manner. I have no doubt I can fill all the requirements of the position you offer, and would be pleased to have you call, Wednesday afternoon, between two and four, at my lodgings, or on any other afternoon you may name. Please grant me at least an interview.
Very Truly,
MARJORIE MAY.
No. — W. 45th Street.
I read all the others, to the last one; but these two had attracted my attention so thoroughly that the rest palled on my taste. Some were too plainly sent by the ordinary class of immoral women, who had taken this manner of making an acquaintance. Onestated that she had the finest form in New York, which she would be happy to exhibit for my approval, in all its chaste splendor. Another had "lost her job" in a big department store, and would "appreciate the true friendship of a man who could spare $6 or $8 a week." Another frankly owned herself to be a "grass widow," who on the whole preferred one "friend" to twenty and offered me the first chance to fill that permanent position. Three or four were apparently school-girls who were tired of the wholesome restraints of home and wanted to run away with any man who would pay their bills.
One declared herself to be 42 years of age, an expert typewriter, and warned me against taking a "giddy young thing" on my journey when one of her assured character could be obtained. She added that her reason for desiring a change was that her employer was a scandalous person, whose goings-on with a younger typewriter with whom she had to associate were "awful." And she enclosed as a clincher an autograph letter from her pastor, recommending her to "any Christian gentleman" needing a reliable assistant.
Several were either married to men whose whereabouts were at present unknown or had been divorced. One admitted in a burst of frankness that she had "trusted a professed friend too far" and did not care what became of herself.
All of which was rather amusing in its way, but brought me no nearer to the goal of my desire—a bright, cheerful companion for the voyage I was about to undertake.
I examined the entire lot before I recollected theagreement I had made with Harvey Hume. Then I gathered up all the letters (except my two favorites)—for I did not mean to show these to any one—and started for his office in the middle of the afternoon. Harvey was in, of course; not that he had any clients or expected any, but because those were his office hours and he had nowhere else to go in particular. He was evidently glad to see me, especially when he espied my package, for he scented something to dispel his ennui.
We withdrew into his private office and he closed the door.
"Any prizes?" he asked, jocosely.
"You can decide for yourself," I answered. "They are entirely at your disposal."
"Humph!" he grunted, as he laid down the first one. "I wouldn't pay that girl's fare to Coney Island, judging by her capacity as a letter writer." Then he struck the communication from the forty-two-years-old damsel and gravely proceeded to show why she was the one I had best select. After awhile he asked leave to retain two or three, that he thought might be of use to him, and that I quite agreed were of none whatever to me. When he had read over about half of the entire number, he pushed the rest aside.
"Rot and rubbish!" he exclaimed.
"That's what I call them," I answered.
"You've given up your plan?" he said, inquiringly.
"By no means. But there's nothing very appetizing in that trash."
"How will you find anything better?"
"Oh, I've a scheme. When it develops I may let you in, but not just at this stage." I wanted to tantalize him a bit. "You asked to see this stuff and I've obliged you."
Just at this moment Tom Barton came in, and Harvey threw a newspaper over the heap of letters, lest it should attract his attention and arouse his suspicions. It was quite needless, for Tom never suspected anything in his life. We talked over a few trifles for fifteen minutes and then, as Tom said he must be going, I walked out into the hall with him.
"I'm going home early," he remarked. "Statia hasn't felt very well for the past day or two, and I am a little worried about her."
I was sincerely sorry to hear it. My chagrin over the things she said to me had modified a good deal and I entertained at that moment only the kindest feelings toward her.
"I wish you would come up to dinner to-night," said Tom, wistfully. "I think that would brighten her up if anything can. She's not ill, but merely out of sorts. Come, that's a good fellow."
I had as lief go there as anywhere and I consented without more demur. There was something in the dog-like attachment of Tom for me that was touching, and in a few days more I would be gone from him for months. As for his sister, I was sure she couldn't bother me more than I could her. I had the two letters in my pocket. If she tried any of her games, I would read them to her.
Statia was unquestionably pale that evening when, after some delay, she came into the parlor to greetme. But she assumed a cheerful air and, when Tom went up stairs and left us alone, inquired if I had carried out my plan of advertising for a companion on my voyage.
"Not only have I advertised," I said, pointedly, "but I have received over a hundred answers. From that number I have picked out several, among which I have no doubt I shall find what I want. In fact, I have secured two staterooms on the Madiana, that sails for the Windward Islands on the 12th, so certain am I that I shall need them both."
There was not much color in her face before, but what little there was left it; which I attributed to her disappointment at the ill success of her predictions.
"Are you really going to carry out this senseless project?" she asked. "I can hardly believe you such a reckless fellow."
"Why is it reckless?" I inquired, boldly. "I need a typewriter. Some young woman needs a situation. Dr. Chambers says it will not do for me to travel alone, and he believes a journey to the tropics the best thing for my health. I'd like to know what ideas you have in that head of yours. I don't mind the reflections you cast upon me, but I object to your attacking the character of a young lady who is to become my employee."
She avoided the point and asked if I was willing to let her see the answers I had received. She added that sometimes a woman's intuitions were better than a man's judgment and that she might save me from getting entrapped.
I laughed at her ingenious stratagem, and drewthe two letters that I had laid aside from my coat pocket.
"It is almost like ill faith," said I, "but as you will not even see the handwriting, and can never know the identity of the writers, I am going to read two of these letters to you. They are the best of the lot, so far as I can judge, and I have no doubt one of them will be the lucky applicant."
She composed herself as well as she could, though the nervous fit was still on her, while I read slowly, pausing between the sentences, each of the letters given in full in the earlier part of this chapter.
"Which of them do you imagine it will be?" she inquired, when I had finished.
"I must at least see them before I can answer that. The first one (the one signed 'Alice') is the brightest, and indicates a jolly nature that I would like to cultivate; but there is something in the other that I fancy, also. A sort of melody in a minor key. I shall not be content until I see the original."
Statia twisted the tassels on the arms of the chair she sat in.
"You are a hopeless scamp!" she said, reddening. "Why do you pretend to me that you have the least intention of doing any sensible work with the assistance of these women, or that you believe either what an honest girl should be?"
"Come, that's going too far!" I replied.
"No, it's not," she persisted, earnestly. "It is right that I should say these things to you. You are the most intimate friend of—my brother. You have no mother, no sister, no one to advise you. This plan, which you are entering upon with such a gayheart, may result in dragging you down to the depths, and perhaps your companion, if she be not already in that category. Don, if you ever cared for Tom—for any of us—stop this thing now!"
I was so astounded at the plainness of her insinuation that I could not reply for some moments. She sat opposite to me, her head thrown forward, her lips parted, her eyes slowly filling with tears.
"You had your chance," I responded, not very politely, it must be admitted. "If you had answered in the affirmative the question I asked you last week this could never have happened. Since you throw me back on myself, you have no right to prevent me going my own way."
She dropped her face in her open hands, to recover her equanimity. When she looked up again she appeared much calmer.
"Don," she said, tenderly, "you must not be so impetuous. Give up this plan and perhaps—some day—I—"
"It is too late," I replied, understanding her very well. "I will never ask any woman a second time the question I asked you. Be decent, Statia. You make too much of a little thing. If there had been anything very wicked in my mind, do you think I would have come here to tell you about it? Let us drop the subject, and be good friends for the short time that remains before I go. Why, there's less than a fortnight left."
She nodded, attempted to smile, and finding that she made a poor show at it, left the room to prepare herself for dinner. When the meal was served, however, we missed her old joviality. She did not speakunless spoken to, and Tom, after trying in vain to engage her in conversation, declared that she must go to see Dr. Chambers the very next morning.
"You'll get into the state that Don did last winter," he said, half jestingly, "if you keep on. He began with just a plain, ordinary attack of the blues, and see where it landed him. Yes, you certainly must go to see Chambers. I never knew you like this before, and there's nothing on earth to cause it."
When I mentioned, soon after we rose from the table, that I had an engagement at my rooms—a fiction, by-the-by—Tom said if I was going to walk he would go part way with me. I was glad to breathe the pure cold air of December and listen to the chatter of the honest fellow, while at the same time escaping from that house, that had nearly sent me again into the doldrums.
MEETING MISS MARJORIE.
The next morning was an awfully long one. I had decided to call on Miss May in the afternoon, "between the hours of two and four," as she had stipulated. Although I had never seen her and had no description of what she was like, I already hoped she would be the One to make my coming journey agreeable. I had the old impetuosity, you will see, that absence of calm deliberation that had sent me to a Sanitarium and nearly to my grave.
If I intended to take a train scheduled to start for any given point at ten I was always in the station without fail at half past nine, stamping my feet at the closed gate, with alternate glances at my watch. If I had an engagement of special interest for a Friday, the Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays dragged horribly.
It had been explained to me fully by Dr. Chambers that I must reform this by my own exertions and that drugs could but assist me in a slight degree. Still breaking away from the habits of years is not an easy thing, and in spite of all I could do I had the old nervousness that day.
At about eleven o'clock, having exhausted the charms of breakfast, the morning papers and several cigars, I thought of a plan to get rid of an hour or more, and taking my coat, hat and cane, I walkeddown to Cook's office to see if anything new had transpired with regard to the trip of the "Madiana." There was a rumor in the Journal that yellow fever had broken out in Jamaica, one of the points where I wanted to touch, and although the source of the news did not particularly recommend it, I thought it well to inquire what the agent had heard in relation to the matter.
As I entered the office my attention was attracted by a quiet appearing man of about thirty, dressed in black and wearing a white tie, who was evidently contemplating the same journey as myself. Now a man wearing a white tie may be either a clergyman, a gambler or a confidence man, and I had no faith in my ability to decide which of those eminent professions this particular person was most likely to adorn. He glanced up from a prospectus which he was examining, as I entered, and made way for me at the counter.
For reasons which I could not explain I liked the man at first sight. If he was a rogue, I reasoned, it was no more true of him, probably, than of most men, and there was no reason to suppose that he had any design in going to the West Indies other than to recuperate his health, which appeared rather delicate. If, on the contrary, he was any sort of clergyman I would be delighted with his companionship.
When the agent introduced us to each other, as he did a few minutes later, I discovered that the white tie had no especial significance, being merely a fad or fancy; for Mr. Wesson informed me that he was a hardware merchant from Boston, with a slighttendency to bronchitis, and was going south to escape February and March, which are usually injurious to persons affected by that complaint in the Eastern States.
I learned from the agent that the "Madiana" was filling up rapidly, and that there were now no entire staterooms unoccupied, except two or three containing four berths. Mr. Wesson had no choice but to share the room of some one who was already on the list, and at the time I came in he was making natural inquiries as to the other passengers, in the hope of selecting a congenial roommate. The agent told him what he could about those whom he had personally seen, but the information was necessarily meagre.
"It may not seem specially important," remarked Mr. Wesson, in an affable manner, to me, "who occupies the other berth, for a few weeks on a steamer, but I happened on one occasion to get a very disagreeable companion, and ever since I have tried to use caution. I should have entered my name earlier, and thus have secured an entire room, as you have done, but I waited a long time before deciding whether to come this way or another. Now, I am just a little too late to get a room by myself, unless I wish to pay three fares for one person, which candidly I do not feel like doing."
I suggested that unless the boat was very much crowded, which I did not anticipate, an arrangement for a change of cabin could doubtless be made in case the first one proved unbearable. With the remark that this was true, Mr. Wesson decided to take the remaining berth in a room not far from mine,in the after part of the ship, which had the advantage of being removed from all the smells of the cook's galley, as well as the dumping of ashes, which often annoys people quartered amidships at a very early hour in the morning.
I asked the agent for a list of the passengers, so far as he was able to give them, desiring to see if there were any names of people who knew me, and devoutly hoping there were none. Mr. Wesson and I went over them together, and made a simultaneous announcement that the entire lot were strangers to us.
They had come from the West, the North, the South, hardly any from New York, and only one from Boston, a strange thing when every traveller knows that Bostonians rival Chicagoans in being found in all sorts of places.
"I often think," said Mr. Wesson, with a smile, "of the odd fate that brings fifty or hundred people together on a steamer, where neither sees a single familiar face except those he has brought with him; and before the voyage is ended the miniature world is like the larger one outside, with its strong likes and dislikes, its petty jealousies, its small talk, its gauging of character and capacity. Give me a month at sea with a man, and I think I can figure him up pretty well."
I agreed with him to a great extent, but remarked that there was always the disadvantage that the "man" might "figure us up" at the same time. I said further that I had found some most delightful companions on board ship who had proved insufferable bores when encountered later on terra firma.
"Your extra berth is reserved still," said a clerk, coming forward and addressing me, "the one in the opposite stateroom. I don't wish to hasten you, but the list is filling up very fast."
"You won't have to wait but a day or two more, I think," was my reply. "Hold it till Saturday, unless you hear from me. Perhaps I may be able to tell you positively to-morrow."
"If the lady is willing to have another share the room with her," he said, "I have an application that I can fill at once. A very pleasant young woman, too, if I may be allowed to judge. She is to be accompanied by her uncle, and as he is not entirely well he is anxious to have her as near him as possible."
I answered that I must ask a little delay before deciding that question. I told him I had three cousins, and as I could not yet say which would go I could not tell whether she would consent to share her cabin with another person. If I could arrange it, I would gladly do so.
"You are to have a travelling companion, then," remarked Mr. Wesson. "Excuse me for saying I envy you. Mrs. Wesson expected to go with me, but the doctor has forbidden it. She is quite frail, and he fears the seasickness she is almost sure to have. I made a canvass of my female relations that are eligible, and one after another found reasons for declining. I am not used to travelling alone, and I don't fancy it in the least. One of the pleasantest things in visiting foreign parts is to have some one along to share the pleasures."
As we parted he asked me if I would exchangecards, and I readily did so. I already felt better acquainted with him that I am with some men whom I have known for months.
"If you find you are to bunk with a specially ugly customer," I said, in parting, "take my other berth. You can keep it for an 'anchor to windward,' as our distinguished statesman from Maine might have said. I don't think you and I will quarrel."
He thanked me profusely, and it was plain that the suggestion was the very one he would have made himself, had he felt warranted in doing so. He mentioned that he would be at the Imperial for several days and asked me, if I found it convenient, to dine with him there some evening before he returned to Boston; which I told him I would try to do.
It was now lunch-time and I thought with exultation of the closeness of the hour when I might call at the lodging of Miss Marjorie May on Forty-fifth Street, and see the lady whom I had already surrounded with the most charming attributes of which a young and impulsive mind could conceive. That I might be disappointed I had also thought, in a vague way, but I had little apprehension on that score.
I went over to the club, and partook of a light repast. Then I looked at my watch and found that, if I walked slowly, I need not reach the number at which I was to call before two o'clock.
But I did not walk slowly. It still lacked ten minutes of the hour when I found myself in front of the residence. I took a turn down Seventh Avenue, and through Forty-fourth Street, to dispose of the remaining minutes. Then, with my heart beating ina way that Dr. Chambers would not have approved—and for which I could give no sensible reason—I climbed the tall steps and rang the bell.
A colored servant answered, after what seemed ages, and when I asked if Miss May was in, invited me to walk into the parlor. She then requested my card, and I had nearly given it to her, when I recollected that it was not my intention to reveal my true name, at this stage.
I said I had forgotten my card case and that she need only say it was the gentleman from the Herald.
During the next ten minutes I did my best to compose my nerves, for I dreaded exhibiting their shaky condition to one in whose presence I would need all my firmness. The room was darkened, and I could see the objects in it but dimly, while the windows, being tightly curtained, afforded me no relief in that direction.
"Why does she not come?" I said to myself, over and over. "If she wanted the situation for which she wrote, a little more celerity of movement would be becoming."
I rose and walked up and down the room. The minutes lengthened horribly. I grew almost angry at the delay and had half a mind to drop the whole business, when I heard a low voice at the door, and saw the outlines of a graceful young form.
"I am Miss May," said a bright voice, that I liked instantly. "If you don't mind coming up stairs I think we can see each other better."
Mind coming up stairs! I would have climbed to the top of the World Building, never minding the elevator.
"Certainly," I responded, and I followed her up two long flights, and into a front chamber, where in the bright light I saw her distinctly for the first time.
The reader will expect—certainly the feminine reader—a description of the sight that met my eyes, and how can I give it? A relation of that sort always seems to me but a modified version of the record of a prisoner at a police station, where he is put under a measuring machine, stood on scales and pumped as to his ancestry and previous record as a criminal.
The impression made on me at that moment by Miss May was wholly general. She was not handsome, in the ordinary acceptation of that term, but very engaging. Her smile put me much at my ease.
I could have told you no more, had you met me that evening. All that I knew or cared to know, before I had taken the chair to which she motioned me, was that out of the million women in Greater New York, I would choose her, and only her, were they presented for my approval one by one.
She was evidently waiting for me to begin the conversation, after the manner of a discreet young woman in the presence for the first time of a possible employer. I made the excuse that the stairs were long, to explain my shortness of breath. For I found it very difficult to talk.
She was kind enough to admit that the stairs were hard. She also made some allusion to the weather, and to the unseasonableness of the temperature, for although it was at the very end of the year there had been hardly any snow and very little cold. Thishelped me along and finally I managed to reach the business on hand.
"I have received a great many answers to my advertisement," I said, "and a certain number seem to have been sent in a spirit of mischief rather than seriousness. I hope that was not the case with yours."
She shook her head and smiled faintly.
"How shall we begin, then?" I asked. "Shall I submit a few questions to you, or would you rather put some queries of your own?"
"As you please," she said, and I noted that there was a confidence in her manner that seemed at variance with her appearance. "Perhaps I may inquire, to commence with, what are the duties of the position."
I hesitated a moment, feeling my breath coming shorter, and this time I had not the stairs to fall back upon as an excuse.
"I have recently recovered from a severe illness," I finally managed to say, "although you might not guess it from my appearance. I may as well admit that while I have use for the services of a typewriter in some work I wish to do, I need quite as much an intelligent person to travel with me—as—a—"
"Companion?" she interpolated, quickly.
"Well, yes, perhaps that is as good a word as any. My physician says I ought not to go alone. I have the literary work to do. Under all the circumstances a combination of assistant in that respect and friendly companionship seems advisable."
She bowed affably, doing her best to put me at my ease.
"You are a younger man than I expected," she said.
"I hope that is not a serious objection," I remarked, "for I see no way to overcome it at present. I want this considered as a business matter—in a way. I should pay a regular salary, and give you the best of travelling accommodations. I am only twenty-four, and you wrote me that you are twenty-two, but I cannot understand how the addition of fifty years to either of those ages would make my proposition more agreeable."
She bowed again, still pleasantly, and inquired what sort of work I was engaged on. I told her, after which she asked what machine I preferred to use. This I left to her, although I mentioned that I owned a Hammond, which had the advantage of being more easily carried than some. She said she had never used that machine, but could easily learn.
"Only give me three or four days alone with it," she smiled. "And now, as these things must all be settled, what salary do you wish to pay?"
I wonder what salary I would not have paid, at that moment, rather than hear her decline the position on the ground that it was insufficient, but I realized that I must not seem over-anxious.
"I would prefer you to name the price," I replied, "I do not think we shall quarrel on that score."
"When do you wish me to leave the city?" was her question.
"I have already engaged berths in the 'Madiana,' of the Quebec SS. Line, which will leave her dock on the North River, Jan. 12th next."
"Berths? You have engaged two?"
"It was necessary to secure them. I have determined that I will not go alone. The list is filling up and I had to put down the names."
"What names?" she asked. "You can hardly have given them mine."
I was getting more and more at my ease. I said I had registered for "self and friend," with the understanding that the "friend" would be a lady.
"Ah!" she said. "Now, how do you intend that I shall travel—if it is decided that I am to go?"
She did not redden as she asked the question, and I do not know why I did.
"As my cousin," I answered. "It is my belief, Miss May," I added, "that you will find this journey very charming, if you go about it right. To be registered simply as my secretary, which will come as near as anything to the fact, or not to be given any title at all, might arouse silly gossip among the other passengers. A relationship of the kind I suggest will still idle tongues and make your position more agreeable."
She thought a little while and then said, suddenly:
"You—you are not married, I suppose?"
"Not in the least," I replied, smiling.
"There is hardly time for much preparation," was her next observation. "What kind of clothing should I need?"
"After the first few days, about the same as you would want here in August. I am not well versed in ladies' attire, but I should say that a travelling dress of some very thin material would be the first requisite; then a 'best' dress or two of very light weight; a liberal supply of articles" (I stammeredslightly) "that need laundering, as there may be a fortnight at a time when washing cannot be obtained; thin shoes, slippers, walking boots suitable for summer, two or three hats—and—" I paused to think if I had omitted anything—"an umbrella and parasol."
She laughed as I finished. A sweet, engaging laugh that made me resolve that I would kidnap her and convey her on board by force in case she refused to go.
"No gloves?" she inquired, archly. "No cape, no—"
"Oh, there are doubtless a lot of kickshaws that will occur to you," I admitted, "that I need not mention. I am pretty sure that I do not even know the names of all of them. On January 12th and 13th the weather will be winter, on the 14th, 15th and 16th spring, and the rest of the time till May midsummer. I don't know as I can give you any better guide."
She said she would make an overhauling of her last year's clothing and see where she stood; which led me to ask, with, I fear too much anxiety in my tone, if she had, then, decided to go.
"Have you decided?" she replied, parrying the question. "You cannot have seen all the women who sent replies. Perhaps you will yet find one more suitable for your purpose. It is only fair to both of us to leave the matter open for a day or two."
"No," I answered, shaking my head decidedly. "As you said a few moments ago, the time is very brief for any one to get ready. Let us settle the matter now. And if you wish any part of yoursalary advanced—on account of the immediate expense you will have to assume—we shall have no difficulty in arranging that matter."
She grew thoughtful, and finally begged me to give her till the following morning, at least. She promised to send a messenger to my address before noon. I did not like the idea, but I could say nothing in opposition without appearing unreasonable, and ended by consenting to it.
"I passed some months in the part of the world to which I am now going, three years since," I said, to strengthen her resolutions in favor of the journey, "and I can assure you that the voyage, from beginning to end, is simply delightful. The Caribbean is truly a summer sea; the Antilles are beautiful to look at, charming in flora and delicious in atmosphere. Then think of the escape you will have from the freezing and thawing of a New York spring. I promise to treat you with all consideration, and as for the labor you are to do, it will be very light indeed. If there is anything I have omitted, consider it included. I am sure," I added, as I rose to go, "that you will never be sorry for the chance that brings us into each other's company."
"Oh," she answered, with superb frankness, "I have no fear that I shall not like you, or that you will treat me in any manner unbecoming a gentleman. I only wish to think the matter over. In the meantime let me thank you for the partiality with which you view my application."
She insisted on going to the street door with me, where I bade her good-by without more ado, fearfulthat if I talked much longer I should say something foolish.
"To-morrow morning, then, I am to get your letter," I said, handing her a card on which I had previously written an address that would do for the present—"David Camwell, Lambs Club." "And to-morrow afternoon, at two again, I shall return to complete our arrangements."
As she bowed an affirmative, I lifted my hat and left her there; wondering why I had not chosen the Klondike for my vacation, so near the boiling point was every drop of blood in my veins.
"DO YOU REALLY WANT ME?"
I did not sleep well, that night, and as I tossed from one side of my bed to the other, I began to fear that the insomnia from which I had escaped, and whose return I so much dreaded, would fasten itself on me once more. During the long, still hours I had many moments when I was inclined to give up my plan of travelling in the company of a charming young woman, and even to drop the entire trip itself. I imagined my condition in a far land, with no physician at hand who understood my case or had the history of my illness. Only one who has known the horrors of sleepless months can conceive the terror which a possible renewal of its symptoms inspired. The mere thought of meeting my fair correspondent had deranged my arterial circulation. The sight of her, our conversation, though carried on in the quietest manner, had thrown my heart out of equipoise, speaking physically. What would happen when she and I were alone together for weeks and weeks?
She was very pretty—there was no doubt of that. She was also marvellously self-contained, and in a conflict of desires would certainly prove the stronger. Was it not the part of common prudence to "foresee the evil and hide?"
I had almost decided to adopt this course, whenthe sleep which had evaded me descended and for four hours I was blissfully unconscious.
It was nearly eight o'clock when I awoke, and with returning reason all the fears of the night vanished. I could only count the minutes now before the expected message would arrive—that message, I assured myself, which would confirm the hopes I so fondly cherished. Not a single doubt remained of the perfect wisdom of the double journey I had planned. I thought again of Dr. Chambers' advice not to travel alone; of Uncle Dugald's wish that the "genealogy" should be pushed to completion as rapidly as possible; of the advantage of having with me a constant companion, to while away the inevitable hours of loneliness. I raised Miss May to the highest pedestal as a young lady of excellent attributes and delightful personality.
Whatever happened, I would not go alone. If Miss May failed me, I would fall back on Miss Brazier. If she also proved obdurate or unsatisfactory, I would go through my other answers and try again.
But I came back always to the original point. It was Miss May I wanted, Miss May I meant to have.
Why should I not induce her to go? She needed a situation, or she would not have written for it. She had seen me and expressed herself candidly in my favor. There could hardly be anything now in the way, except the financial aspect of the case, and I was prepared to meet her on any ground she chose to name.
I lingered as long over my breakfast as possible, to kill the time, and read the morning papers, advertisements and all. Especially closely did I scan the "professional situations wanted," thinking perhaps there might be among them one from which I could fashion another "string to my bow." Most of the advertisers that morning were, however, either German governesses, or elderly ladies who wished positions in private families.
There were several professional models, who would "pose" for the figure at from one to two dollars an hour. In my desperation I almost resolved to turn painter and carry one of these off with me, if worse came to worst. Anything was better than making the journey alone, in my present state of mind.
A knock at the door startled me, and to my faint "Come in," a boy responded, wearing the uniform of a messenger. I looked at him like one in a dream, as he walked across the carpet and handed me an envelope. Was there anything to pay? I inquired, and when he responded in the negative, I put a silver dollar into his hand for himself. Did I wish him to wait for an answer? No, I did not. I wished him to get out of the room as soon as possible, and to close the door behind him; which he proceeded at once to do.
For what seemed hours, and yet did not probably exceed ten minutes, I held that envelope in my hand, before I found courage to open it. Laugh at me, ye who will, your siege with nervous prostration has evidently not yet arrived. No prisoner awaiting the decision of a governor as to whether his sentence of death is to be commuted could lay greater stress on the contents of a message. I wanted Miss Mayto take that journey with me, as I had never wanted anything else. Her decision undoubtedly lay within that bit of paper.
I stared at the name I had given her, written in a bold, and still feminine hand, strong, clear, handsome. I turned the envelope over and noted the sealing wax with the impress of some sort of stamp which I could not entirely make out. And at last, with shaking fingers, I took up my paper cutter and made the requisite incision which released the note within.