Miss Betsey Kling was quite uneasy in her mind about this time, not only because the Torpedo refused to see himself in the light of that other self, and fled whenever he saw her approaching, but also because some subtle instinct told her, that under her very nose, was going on something of which the details were unknown to her, and that listen as she would, could not be ascertained. This good-looking young man, who had so suddenly appeared on Mrs. Simonson's premises who and what was he? From Mrs. Simonson she learned that he was an old friend of Quimby's; that she believed he was also an old friend of Miss Archer's, or Miss Rogers', or of both, and that his father was very wealthy,
"Humph!" said Miss Kling, with a suspicious sniffle. "Strange that he should room with Quimby if his father is so wealthy? Why does he not have a room of his own?"
"He and Quimby are such friends, you see!" Mrs. Simonson explained.
Miss Kling gave another sniffle, this time of contempt, at such a reason being possible.
"Miss Rogers is in here about all her time when she isn't at the office, is she not?" was the next question.
"She is very intimate with Miss Archer," Mrs. Simonson replied.
"And I supposeheand that Quimby are in there with them every evening, are they not?" pursued Miss Kling.
They called quite often, Mrs. Simonson acknowledged, as did Mr. Norton, and Miss Fishblate.
"They seem to have good times, too," added kindly Mrs. Simonson. "Young folks will be young folks, you know. And why not? Bless you! we never can enjoy ourselves again as we do when young. There are too many cares and worries when we get to our age."
Miss Kling rose stiffly; this allusion to "our age" disgusted and offended her beyond pardon, and she flew into a spasm of sneezing.
"Well, I, for one, do not think such conduct is proper," she said, as soon as possible. "I was brought up to understand that young ladies should never receive the visits of gentlemen except in the presence of older people!"
Mrs. Simonson only laughed a little forced laugh she had when she did not know exactly what to say. For her own part, although not willing to offend Miss Kling by saying so, she was glad to see her lodgers enjoying themselves; more than glad to have Clem there, as on his arrival she had promptly tacked an extra dollar on the room rent, under the plea that the wear and tear on furniture was greater with two in a room.
Miss Kling, fearing, perhaps, another reference to "our age," left her, and next attacked Celeste Fishblate, having long ago discovered Nattie to be impregnable to the process known as "pumping," a fact that had augmented her ever-increasing dislike towards her lodger.
From Celeste, she learned that they had "suchnice times!" that Mr. Stanwood was "sosplendid!" and that "Miss Archer was justdeadin love with him, and he with her!"
"Humph!" thought Miss Kling with a sneeze. "It's that Miss Archer then, is it?" Her next move was to arrest poor Quimby in the hall, intending to put him through a series of interrogations regarding the antecedents of his friend, and the length of his acquaintance with Miss Archer. But in this she was baffled, for at the first question, Quimby exclaimed,
"I—I don't know! Don't ask me!" and fled.
Miss Kling, much to her dissatisfaction, was therefore compelled to make the little she had gathered go as far as it would, for the present. But she lived in hopes.
It was perhaps not wonderful, that Miss Kling sitting lonely by her fireside, and pining for her other self, should feel envious because her lodger, whom she took ostensibly for company, was enjoying herself over the way evening after evening, and telling her absolutely nothing about it, but confining their intercourse to the necessary civilities.
Undoubtedly the few weeks that had passed since Clem's appearance on the scene ought to have been the happiest in Nattie's hitherto lonely life, happier even than those in which she talked to the then unseen "C," and speculated about him with Cyn. But yet—she sometimes felt that a certain something that had been on the wire was lacking now; that Clem, while realizing all her old expectations of "C," was not exactly what "C" had been to her. One reason of this she knew was her own inability to conquer a sort of timidity she felt in his presence, a timidity from which Cyn was certainly free. Well aware that beside the gay and brilliant Cyn she was nowhere, Nattie had a sensitive fear that he might be disappointed in her. But she did not yet know that the foundation of all these uneasy misgivings of hers was a selfish emotion, the same that had prompted that jealous pang at Cyn's "we" the day he first discovered himself, and this was, that on the wire "C" had been all hers, but in Clem, Cyn seemed to have the largest share.
Twice he had called on Nattie at the office, but neither time could stop, and as it happened on each occasion, she was in the midst of a rush of business, that left no chance for conversation. But one rainy Saturday afternoon, when a general dullness prevailed, and she was fervently wishing the hands of the clock might move on faster towards six, Clem holding a very wet umbrella, and with water dripping from his curly locks, presented himself. If he was not, he certainly ought to have been flattered by the blush with which Nattie involuntarily welcomed him.
"Did you rain down?" she hastily exclaimed, hoping by this trite commonplace to distract attention from the blush, of which she was conscious.
"It appears like it, doesn't it?" he answered merrily, giving himself a little shake, and placing his wet umbrella and hat in a corner. "It was so dull at the store, I thought I would run around to the scene of former exploits. Do you not sometimes wish I was back at X n to keep you company such days as these?"
Without thinking twice before she spoke once, Nattie answered candidly, as she placed a chair for her visitor,
"Yes, I believe I do, often."
"I do not know whether to take that as a compliment or otherwise," Clem said, looking at her as if half vexed.
Nattie glanced up inquiringly
"It certainly is a compliment to my abilities for, making myself agreeable at adistance. But—" said Clem, with a shrug of his shoulders, "a poor fellow does not like to feel as if the farther away he is, the better he is liked!"
"Oh! I did not mean it that way at all!" exclaimed Nattie, in hasty explanation. "Only, you know, I had more of your company on the wire!"
Clem looked pleased.
"If that is the trouble—" he began, but Nattie interrupted, her face very red.
"I did not mean that, either; I meant it was in such a different way, you know—and I—I could talk more easily, and—I do not believe I know what I do mean!" stopping short in embarrassment.
Clem looked at her and smiled.
"Let us see if it is any easier talking on the wire," he said; and taking the key, he wrote,
"Good P m, will you please tell me truly, and relieve my mind, if you like me as well as you thought you would?"
Taking the key he relinquished, and without looking at him, she replied, "Yes; and suppose I ask you the same question, what would you say, politeness aside?"
"I should answer." wrote Clem, his eyes on the sounder, "that I have found the very little girl expected!"
And then their eyes met, and Nattie hastily rose and walked to the window, for no ostensible purpose, and Clem said, going after her,
"Itisnicer talking on the wire, isn't it?"
Nattie was saved the necessity of replying by some one down the line who just then inquired,
"Who was that talking soft nonsense just now? We don't allow that sort of thing here!"
"How impertinent!" exclaimed Nattie.
"Possibly our red-headed friend is somewhere about," Clem said; then taking the key, responded to the unknown questioner,
"Don't trouble yourself; I shall not talk soft nonsense to you!"
"That sounds like 'C's' writing! Is it?" was asked quickly.
"My style must be very peculiar to be so readily detected," Clem said to Nattie, laughingly; then replied on the wire, "If you will sign I will tell you."
"Em."
"Ah!" said Clem, and immediately acknowledged himself. Then followed a short chat with "Em," in which she endeavored to make him confess what office he was then sending from, which he persistently refused to do.
Having bade "Em" good-by, and closed the key, he said to Nattie, verbally, "We ought to have a private wire of our own, since a wire is so necessary to our happiness! I see," glancing around the office, "that you have an extra key and sounder here."
"Yes;" Nattie replied, "we had at one time a railroad wire, and when it was taken out, the instruments were left, and have been here ever since."
"Do you suppose you could take them home—to practice on, say?" queriedClem, a sparkle in his brown eyes.
"Doubtless, if I asked permission, they would allow me that privilege; why?" asked Nattie, curiously.
"I have a brilliant idea!" replied Clem, gayly. "But do not be alarmed, I am used to it, as Quimby would say; it is this. I myself have a key and sounder, relics of college days, beauties, too, and if you can take home those over there, we will have telegraphic communication from your room to ours, immediately. The wire and battery I will fix all right, and when Cyn is out, and you can't come over, and at odd times, we will have some of our old chats."
"But," said Nattie, hesitatingly, although evidently delighted with the idea, "Miss Kling' will never—"
"Hang Miss Kling!" interrupted Clem, emphatically; "excuse the expression, but she deserves it; she never need know. I will undertake to arrange everything, and keep the secret from her. To account for the instruments in your room, tell her you are going to practice at home, and have a pupil. Cyn, I know, will be delighted to amuse herself by learning."
"I should like it very much," acknowledged Nattie, "but—"
"I allow no buts," Clem interrupted with gay decision; "you get the instruments, tell me the first time Miss Kling goes out to spend the day, and leave the rest to me."
Nattie needed little urging, being only too willing to have some more of those old confidential chats with "C,"—whichnobodycould share—and the required promise was given.
Strange it is, how circumstances alter cases. Coming to the office that morning, Nattie had found it disagreeable and hard enough to buffet the storm, and had growled at herself all the way, because she was not smart enough to get on in the world, even so far as to be able to stay at home in such weather For storms of nature, like storms of life, are hardest to a woman, trammeled as she is in the one by long skirts, that will drag in the mud, and clothes that every gust of wind catches, and in the other by prejudices and impediments of every kind, that the world, in consideration, doubtless, for her so-called "weakness," throws in her way. But now, on her way home, Nattie minded not the wind, and rather enjoyed the rain; it may be that this total change in her sentiments was due to the fact that Clem held the umbrella.
Miss Kling saw them come into the hotel together, wet and merry, and scowled. Perhaps in former days she had gone home under an umbrella with somebody—a possible other self—and so knew all about the enjoyability of the experience. But Nattie did not even notice her landlady's acrimonious glance, and sang a gay song as she changed her bedrabbled dress.
Cyn, who was of course immediately informed about the projected private wire, was delighted with the idea, and began studying the Morse alphabet at once.
"And the best of all is that we are going to get the better of that argus-eyed Dragon!" said Cyn.
"Ifwe can!" Nattie replied with emphasis.
"Oh! but Clem is sure of that part!" Cyn said with great confidence.
But Nattie shook her head dubiously.
"She is so inquisitive!" she remarked.
"Yes, and the most despicable character on earth to me, is a person whose chief object in life is gossip! why, life is too short to take care of our own affairs in! I wish you would leave her, and come and room with me!" exclaimed Cyn indignantly.
"Mrs. Simonson would not dare have me. She is afraid of Miss Kling, you know. But I wish I might, for I am tired of being here," Nattie replied discontentedly.
"Well, we will have our wire at all events, and for once something shall be that Miss Kling will not know," said Cyn exultantly.
Unconsciously the dreaded individual favored them, shortly after, by going to spend the evening with friends after her own heart—very genteel, but in reduced circumstances:—and as the instruments were all ready, and they had only been waiting for her absence, Clem went to work. He was assisted by the willing Jo, who argued that running a wire was solid work, andnotromantic, and by Quimby, who viewed the arrangement as another formidable link in the chain of his rival, and clamored wildly for a "telephone," because "anybody could use a telephone." But that, as Clem said, was exactly what they did not want! Consequently Quimby, as he lent his aid, felt himself a very martyr. However, he was, by this time, "used to it, you know,"—as he would have said—having viewed himself in that light since his unwitting resurrection of "C." Still, he sometimes fancied he saw a dim light shining ahead through the gloom—a hope that Clem might be fascinated by Cyn. Many were, Quimby argued, so why should not Clem be? and certainly he talked with her more than he did with Nattie!
In Nattie's room, they placed the instruments on a small shelf put up for the purpose, just outside her closet, and run the wire through the closet into the hall outside, and thence along, so close to the wall that it was not noticeable, except to those who knew, and then into Mrs. Simonson's apartments. Here, no concealment was necessary, as Mrs. Simonson had been informed of the plan, and, although trembling lest the vials of Miss Kling's wrath would be poured on her head, should that lady discover the arrangement, had no objections to offer, if they were positive "the electricity on the wire would not wear out the carpet, or injure the table"—which was the terminus in Quimby and Clem's room.
Having satisfied her on this point, they deemed it expedient not to show her the battery in their closet, fearing alarm lest it might eat through the room and overpower her.
"And now," said Clem, gayly, when all was finished, and fortunately without attracting attention, not even Celeste being in the secret; "now, Quimby, we can dispense with that alarm clock we were intending to buy."
"I—I beg pardon, but I—I don't quite catch your meaning," the martyr replied, in evident surprise.
"Why, Nat is to be our alarm clock!" explained Clem, laughing. "She is, from necessity, an early riser, and I shall depend on her to call on our wire at precisely six thirty every morning, and continue calling until I answer."
"I certainly will," Nattie replied. "But I will venture to predict that both you and Quimby will privately call me all sorts of names for doing it. It makes people so very cross to be aroused from a morning nap, you know!"
"It doesn't makemecross, I—I assure you; it—it will be a pleasure!" quickly exclaimed Quimby, who was delighted with this idea of the alarm clock.
"I will report him if he shows the least symptom of growling, after that assertion!" Clem said to Nattie, somewhat to Quimby's internal agitation, for, to tell the truth, he was not really quite certain of being in a state of rapture at six thirty every morning, even when awoke by the clatter of a sounder, of which the motive power was his inamorata.
"And now, to christen our wire!" Nattie, who was in high spirits, said gayly, and she ran over to her room, and a half hour's chat with "C" followed before she went to bed. For a week after, however, she lived, as it were, on thorns, and came home every night half expecting an explosion.
None came, however. Miss Kling's eyes were not as good as they once had been, what with their long service watching for that other self, and overlooking her neighbors; the hall was dark; she had no duplicate key to Nattie's always-locked room, and the small wire, nestling close to the wall, was undiscovered; of course, she heard the clatter of the sounder, but this Nattie explained on the score of "practice."
"Well, I am sure!" said Miss Kling, snappishly, "I should think you would get 'practice' enough at the office, without sitting up nights to do it!"
At which Nattie turned away to hide a blush, aware that "C" and she sometimes talked even into the small hours, in their zeal, doubtless, that the new wire should not rust out for lack of using.
But this telegraphic arrangement came hardest on poor Quimby, who, between his jealousy when the two were communicating, his inability to understand what was being said, and the impossibility of sleeping with such a clatter in the room, lost his appetite, and invoked anything but blessings on the head of "that Morse man," who had made such things possible.
Cyn had no intention of being left out in the cold, and making Jo join her, began the study of telegraphy, and the two hammered away incessantly. It began to be observable, about this time, that Jo was very willing to be led about by the nose by Cyn. Why, was not so apparent; perhaps because there was no romance in it.
Cyn learned the quicker of the two, and she was soon able, slowly and uncertainly, to "call" Nattie, ask her to come over, or impart any little information, but was always driven frantic by the attempt to make out Nattie's reply, however slowly written. Cyn tried to induce Quimby to overcome the horrors of those little black marks, the alphabet and their sounds, but he recoiled from the effort as hopeless.
However, whenever they made candy, as they often did, he had an opportunity of distinguishing himself, that he did not fail to improve. On the first occasion, so uneasy was he about a quiet conversation Clem and Nattie were having, that he absently put the mass of candy he had been pulling, into his pocket to cool. Itdidcool, but he sold the coat afterwards, to a boy at the office.
Next time, he forgot to grease his hands, and stuck himself so together, that they had the utmost difficulty in getting him apart, but, as he said,
"It's no matter, I—I am used to it, you know!"
He capped the climax, however, by accidentally dropping a large handful, warm, on top of Celeste's head, aggravating the offense by telling her to "go quick and soak her head;" which, although it was what she eventually did, was too much like a certain slang phrase much in vogue, for human nature to endure; and giving him an angry look, the only one on record ever given by her to a man, she rushed from the room, and was seen no more that evening.
After this exploit, whenever molasses candy was on the programme, they made a rule that Quimby should sit in the corner, on the old familiar stool, and not move until all was over—a rule to which he submitted meekly.
But he was not happy. In truth, all his joys in these days were mixed with alloy, between the pointed monopoly of Celeste-who, of late, and since she had given up every one else as hopeless, had devoted herself entirely to him—and his secret jealousy of Clem.
Strangely enough, with the exception of Cyn, no one was aware of the exact state of his mind. Clem was as unconscious of it as a child, for any peculiarity in his behavior was laid to his well-known idiosyncrasies; Celeste suspected he was in love, but was blindly determined to believe she was the chief attraction in his eyes. Nattie, if she thought about it at all, imagined he was entirely cured Of that former "foolishness," as she termed his one attempt to put his devotion into words. And as for Jo, being so opposed to anything of a sentimental nature himself, naturally he was unwilling to observe any indications of the kind in another, and any glaring revelations that forced themselves on his notice, he, in common with Clem, decided was "only Quimby's way."
Oh, Dear, no! Jo could see nothing but plain-unromantic facts. It was no sentiment, or anything of the sort on Jo's part, of course, that made him reproduce the handsome, brilliant face of Cyn, in so many of his recent pictures. Oh, no! she was a good "study," that was all! Nor that caused him to seek her society in preference to all others, to listen entranced when she sang, and to be exceedingly annoyed—a rare thing once for good humored Jo—when Clem was given more than his share of her attention. Again oh, no! Cyn was a fellow Bohemian, a congenial spirit, that was all. Neither in the least sentimental or jealous was Jo!
But for all that, and for some unexplained reason, he was not quite so even in his spirits as he was wont to be, sometimes being very happy, and then terribly depressed. Did he eat too much, or too little, which? For if it was not the first commencement of a first love—and of course it was not—it must have been his digestion that ailed him!
Had Miss Betsey Kling known of these little uneasy undercurrents amidst the gayety that so annoyed her, the knowledge would doubtless have given her much satisfaction, besides, possibly, the inkling she could not now obtain of what was "going on." It was a source of great distress to her that she could not ascertain whether it was Cyn or Nattie with whom Clem was "flirting." For she was positive he was trifling with the affections of one or the other, and that matters would end in some kind of a horrible scandal. But for all her listening and prying around, she could not seem to gain much information, except that everybody but herself—and perhaps the old gentleman Fishblate—was having a good time. Nor could she get hold of anything "dreadful," which was the greatest disappointment of all.
One night, however, listening at her own door as Nattie bade Cyn "good night," over the way, Miss Kling heard Clem call out from within, something that made her very hair stand on end. It was this:
"Please wake me up earlier than usual to-morrow morning, will you,Nattie?"
"Wake him up, indeed!" thought the outraged but happy Miss Kling, as she wended her way back to her own room. "Pretty goings on! and I know I heard that machine clatter when she was not in, one day! Machines do not clatter without a human agency somewhere! There is something wrong here! and I will find it out, or my name is not Betsey Kling 'Wake him up,' indeed!"
It happened that not long after Cyn sang at a concert given in one of the principal halls of the city. Of course, a party from the Hotel Norman attended. This party consisted not only of all the young people, but also included Mrs. Simonson.
Cyn made a great success, and was encored every time she sang. Never had Nattie so fully realized the beauty and brilliancy of her friend, as she did upon that evening. Nor could she fail to observe that Clem, too, was startled into a new admiration. Was it because of this that a seriousness, quite foreign to the gay scene, fell over Nattie's face?
As for Celeste, she was decidedly envious, and had there been no gentlemen in the party, would have turned exceedingly glum. As it was, she, with some difficulty, called up her usual smiles, and contented herself with whispering spitefully to Quimby,
"How can she appear before the public so? it seemssounwomanly!"
"Charming, indeed!" replied Quimby, without the slightest idea of what she had said, as his attention was concentrated on Cyn, and his brain incapable of entertaining two ideas at once.
But while acknowledging her attractions, Quimby preserved his composure, arguing to himself in a common sense way,
"What is the use of a fellow falling in love with a girl that every other fellow is sure to fall in love with too, you know?"
Mrs. Simonson, good soul, quite swelled with pride in her lodger, and by her behavior created the impression in the minds of people sitting near, that she was the singer's mother.
And Jo—unsentimental Jo—was entirely carried away. With the music, of course, for music was art, and art, only in another branch, was his life and work; and was not Cyn a beautiful work of Nature, the mother of all art?
"He will be a very lucky man who shall call our Cyn his," whispered Clem to Jo, as she came out in answer to an encore.
"What!" ejaculated Jo, so savagely that every one turned to look at him, and Clem opened his eyes wide with surprise. "Bah! Nonsense!"
And some way or other, after this, the music sounded very dismal to Jo, and the close air of the room made his head ache; but he had been working very hard all day, and was tired, so this was quite natural.
Was Clem presuming on his good looks, and thinking of making Cynhis, he wondered? If he was,shecertainly would not be fool enough to—Jo stopped here in his meditations, because he would like to have been a little surer that she would not. Very strongly he felt just then that "things of a doubtful nature were sometimes very uncertain!"
It was, of course, no sentiment on his part that caused these emotions. He did not wish Cyn to throw herself away in matrimony, that was all; and so strong were his feelings on this point that he could not banish the idea from his mind all the rest of the evening, and was noticeably thoughtful.
But he was very gay; even unusually, wildly gay on the way home, and kept Mrs. Simonson, whom he escorted, in such a state of laughter that she burst three buttons, and was all "wheezed up" when they reached the hotel.
"Why are you so thoughtful to-night?" Clem asked Nattie, as they walked down their street behind the rest, in the wake of Jo's gayety and Celeste's meaningless giggle. Celeste was clinging to the arm of the unwilling, but helpless Quimby, and chatting of the handsome tenor.
With a slight start, Nattie replied to Clem's question,
"I do not know. Am I?"
"Yes; you have hardly spoken a word all the way. Is anything the trouble?" asked Clem, and she, looking moodily oh the ground, did not see the anxiety in his eyes as he spoke.
"Nothing!" she replied; then startled him by bursting out passionately,
"I am tired of living with no object; with nothing but a daily routine. Can it be there is no better place in the world for me? That my life must be always thus? Icannotbe contented!"
Clem stopped short and stared at her agitated face.
"I never knew you were not happy, Nattie," he said, gently.
"Oh! I am not unhappy; I am only discontented," Nattie replied.
"You are somewhat contradictory in your statements," said Clem, as they went on again, for she also had stopped. "Is it office troubles that annoy you? Poor little girl, itisa monotonous life!"
Nattie flushed at the tenderness in his voice.
"That is one thing," she replied, a little tremblingly, "but I want something to work for, as Cyn has. I am ambitious; my present position can never content me; I am haunted all the time by an uneasy consciousness that if I was smart I should be doing something to get ahead; and yet, I don't know what to do!"
"I remember you once said something about becoming a writer; why not try that?" suggested Clem.
They had reached their own landing at the hotel, and paused. The remainder of the party had disappeared.
"It seems so hopeless," Nattie answered, dispiritedly; "there is no opening anywhere."
"But it will never do to wait for that, you know. If the world is a closed oyster, we must open it. Isn't that the way Cyn did?" said Clem, half surmising the realization of the difference between Cyn's brilliant success and her own plodding along that had caused her dejection; and as he spoke, he took her hand in his, but Nattie snatched it quickly away.
"Ah! Cyn!" she said in sudden and uncontrollable jealousy, "of courseyoucould never expect me to compare with her!"
Clem looked at her a moment, then some emotion flushed his face, and he would have spoken had not Miss Kling, disgusted with her inability to catch a word from inside, opened her door, saying sharply,
"Are you coming in, Miss Rogers?"
"Certainly," Nattie replied quickly, and already ashamed of her jealous outburst. "Good night, Clem."
"But will you not come over and congratulate Cyn on her success?" he asked, detaining her. "I heard a carriage just stop, and think she is in it."
"Not to-night; to-morrow," said Nattie, hastily, and left him before he could again urge the request.
"Oh!" said Miss Kling, as Nattie closed the door behind her, "was thatMr. Stanwood who came home with you?"
"Yes;" Nattie answered, briefly. "I should hardly have thought MissArcher would have allowed it!" remarked Miss Kling, with a sneeze.
"I don't know why she should have forbidden it!" replied Nattie, coldly, yet looking somewhat startled. Poor Nattie's nerves were decidedly unstrung to-night.
"You do not mean to say that you are ignorant of what every one else knows?" queried Miss Kling, with a malicious sparkle in her eyes; "that they are just the same as engaged."
Nattie turned a very pale face towards her.
"I—I think you are mistaken," she faltered.
"Mistaken! no indeed!" said Miss Kling, positively; "I should think your own eyes might tell you that! Why, Mrs. Simonson says, Miss Archer has thought of nobody but him since he came into the house, and that anybody can tell he is in love with her, from his actions and the attentions he pays her, and Celeste told me the same thing, long ago. But I suppose Miss Archer is willing he should come home withyou. She isn't, of course, jealous ofyou!"
There was a sneering emphasis in Miss Kling's last words, that made them anything but complimentary, as Nattie felt; but saying only, in a voice she vainly tried to steady,
"You may be right," she went into her own room, and locked the door behind her.
She knew now! knew what that first romantic acquaintance, that dejection at the companionship lost in the obnoxious red-head, that joy when "C" was restored to her in Clem, that unsatisfied desire to have him back on the wire, all to herself; that suppressed jealousy of Cyn, led to—and what it all meant; that she loved him! and he, did he, as they said, love Cyn? alas! who could help loving bright, beautiful Cyn? To attract him to herself was only the romance of their first acquaintance—and even this Cyn slightly shared; it was not Cyn's fault. Nattie could not be guilty of the petty meanness of disliking her friend because she possessed attractions superior to her own. But if he loved Cyn, then, indeed, had the curtain fallen on the sad ending of her romance; the lights were out, and all was darkness.Ifhe loved Cyn? Nattie, with the first full knowledge of her own feelings, could hardly hope otherwise, remembering their intimacy, his marked attention to her, his praise of her, and her winning beauty and talents. Yes, it must be that he loved her! Oh, why must Cyn be given everything, and she—nothing? What kind of fate was it that marked out the broad, sunny road for one, and the somber, uneven pathway for another? Must her life be one of lonely discontent, a telegraph office at the beginning, and a telegraph office at the end? was this to be all?
"No!" thought Nattie, raising her head proudly, and looking at the red and swollen eyes that gazed at her from the opposite glass. "Lifeshallgive me something of its best; if not of love, then of fame! and I will work and persevere until I gain it!"
Yet, for all of her resolution, Nattie sobbed herself to sleep. Not so easy is it to renounce love, and look forward to a life barren of its best and sweetest gift.
And after this there was a change in her observable even to the undiscerning Quimby. Shadows had fallen over her face, lurked in her gray eyes and around the corners of her mouth. The old restlessness had given place to a settled gloom. She was less often seen among the gay circle that gathered in Cyn's parlor, pleading every possible excuse for staying away, and when with them, to his surprise and delight, and to Celeste's dismay, she devoted herself to Quimby, to Jo—to any one rather than to Clem. For most of all had she changed to him. Afraid of betraying her secret, and unable to control the pain that overpowered her when in his presence, now she knew her own heart, she avoided him in every practicable way, and seldom, even over their wire, talked with him. She was always "tired," or "busy," when he called her now.
Clem, surprised and puzzled by this unaccountable change, at first endeavored to overcome her coolness, but ended by becoming cool in his turn, and talked and joked with Cyn more than ever. And if a touch of the shadows on Nattie's face sometimes crept over his own, she, in her self-engrossment, did not observe it.
If Quimby's hopes burned brighter at this state of affairs, and he was consequently happier, Jo, for some reason unexplained, was not. In fact, he was decidedly queer; now gay, now horribly cynical, not to say morose.
Truly, Cupid, viewed in the character of a telegraphist, was far from being a success; for he had switched everybody off on to the wrong wire!
Cyn, gay unconscious Cyn, no more dreamed of Clem being supposedly in love with her, than she did that Jo was so filled with thoughts of her, that, had he been a different kind of a man, one would have called him desperately in love. But Cyn, unconscious of all this, saw, and with sorrow, the ever-increasing coldness between Nattie and Clem. For she had quite set her heart on the romance that had commenced in dots and dashes culminating in orange blossoms—a Wired Love. But now, to her vexation, she saw her anticipations liable to be set at naught, and herself unable to obtain even a clew to the trouble. Like the "line man," who goes up and down to find why the wires will not work, she could not find the "break" anywhere, and decided that romances, whether "wired" or taken in the ordinary way, were certainly very unwieldy things to manage.
"It seems to me that you do not use that wire very often now," she said one evening to Clem and Nattie, the latter of whom she had forcibly dragged forth from the solitude of her room. "Were it not for me, it would rust. Why! I used to hear your clatter into the small hours, but now—"
"Now we are more sensible," concluded Nattie, leaning over the piano to look at some music. "One gets tired of talking in dots and dashes after a time!"
Poor Nattie's trouble made her bitter sometimes.
"Yes, one wants a person they don't know to talk with, in order to make it interesting!" added Clem, not to be outdone.
"Good gracious!" thought Cyn, dismayed at the result of her probing."This is really dreadful!" then she exclaimed impulsively,
"I hope you have not quarreled, you two!"
"Oh! dear no!" replied Nattie quickly, "what should we quarrel about?"
But Clem, after looking at her a moment, advanced and held out his hand, saying frankly,
"I believe we have been cross to each other of late, although how it happened I do not know! So let us make up and be good!"
Cyn looked up hopefully at this, but Nattie, who could hardly conceal her agitation, replied coldly,
"I do not see that anything has been the matter!" and placing a limp hand in his for an instant, turned away.
Clem bit his lip, then took out his watch, saying,
"I believe I have an engagement down town this evening. I shall have to leave you now, I fear, ladies."
Nattie celebrated his departure by bursting into tears that she vainly tried to hide, and was detected in this situation on the sofa by Cyn.
Cyn's arms were about her in a moment, and Cyn's voice said lovingly,
"What is it, dear? Tell me what is the matter lately? Trust me with it.Is it about Clem?"
With a determination, very brave and unselfish, but unfortunately entirely uncalled for, not to mar Cyn's happy love by her sorrow, Nattie checked the tears, of which she was ashamed, and answered,
"No! I am very weak and foolish. The idea of my crying like a school-girl! I am only unhappy because—because—I am nobody!"
And this was all the information the sympathetic and perplexed Cyn could obtain.
Sitting that night on a low cricket before the fire with her dark hair unbound—and it was fortunate for Jo's peace of mind that he could not see her just then, because she was such an interesting "study!"—Cyn thought it all over, and could not, as she told herself, make out what it was all about.
"I thought everything was going on so smoothly," she mused, "and now here is what Clem himself would term a cross on the wire! and no one can find out where it is! Doesn't she love him, I wonder? I should, if I was she! Does he love her? if he does not, he is no kind of a hero! Ah! I know what would test the matter! a crisis! Now, for instance, if the house would only get on fire, and Nat burn up—that is, almost—and Clem save her just in time—that is the sort of thing that brings these heroes to terms in the dramas! but I suppose—everything is so different in real life—Clem would not wake up in time, and she would burn to a crisp—or some one else would save her first—Quimby, for instance, he is always doing something he ought not! no, I don't think it would do to risk it! nevertheless, I am convinced that a crisis is what is essential to complete the circuit, telegraphically speaking, or in other words, to bring down the curtain on every body, embracing everybody, with greateclat!"
Somewhat exultant over the new aspect of affairs, and unable longer to endure the strain of the load of love he was carrying about with him, Quimby came to a desperate determination.
This was no other, than to confide in his room-mate, and once dreaded rival, and then, provided he was not thrown out of the window, or kicked down stairs, ask his advice about how to render himself clearly understood byher, at the same time relating his former unfortunate attempt.
This programme he carried into effect one morning, as Clem was blacking his boots. Perhaps he had made private calculations on a blacking-brush hitting a man with less damage than some larger article.
"I say, Clem!" Quimby began, "I—I want to ask your advice, you know!"
"I am at your service, my dear boy," replied the unsuspecting Clem, rubbing away at his boot.
"Well—I—I want to know—the fact is, I—I am boiling over with love!"
"What!" exclaimed Clem, looking up with an amused smile, "you are not in love with Cyn too, are you?"
"With Cyn,too?" These words were balm to the soul of Quimby, and gave him courage to answer eagerly,
"Ah! no use in that forme, you know! It—it isshe—MissRogers—Nattie—you know!"
The blacking-brush left Clem's hand, but not to fly at the expectant Quimby. It simply dropped onto the floor, while Clem gave vent to his feelings in a prolonged whistle.
"Is it possible!" he said, having thus relieved himself of his first astonishment. "I might have suspected as much if I had stopped to think, though!"
"Yes, I—I think I showed it plain enough, you know!" said Quimby candidly. "You see, I—I tried to tell her of it once, before you came here, when you were invisible, you know, but some way she—she didn't just understand, and—and bolted, you know! So just tell me how to do it, that is a good fellow, for do it I must!"
Clem picked up his blacking-brush, and very deliberately smeared the boot he had just polished, with another coat of blacking, before answering.
"How can I tell you?" he said at last. "You don't suppose proposing is an every-day habit of mine, do you? My dear boy, I never proposed in my life!"
"But you—you ought to—I mean you will sometime, you know! Just give me a—a start, you know!" pleaded Quimby, sitting down on the edge of the bed.
"Shall I call her and propose for you?" inquired Clem, somewhat ironically, and glancing at the sounder.
"No—no—I—No!" cried Quimby in great alarm at this proposition. "She might think you meant yourself, you know!"
"In which case the rejection would be sure!" said Clem. Then flinging his brush savagely into a corner, he added as he went out,
"You must settle it yourself, old fellow! No one can help us in those matters. There is no duplex!"
Quimby was therefore left to his own devices; and his own devices brought about a most extraordinary result.
That same evening, Nattie coming over to Cyn's room, and finding her absent, sat down to await her return, which Mrs. Simonson assured her would be very soon. There was no gas lighted, and in the dusk Nattie remained, feeling, perhaps, an affinity with the somber shadows of the twilight. As she sat musing, now wishing "C" had left her life forever when he left it with the odors of musk and bear's-grease about him, and now despising herself for the weakness she found it so hard to overcome, she became conscious of a denser shadow in the shadows of the open door.
"I—I beg pardon. Is it Cyn?" asked this shadow, in the voice of Quimby.
"No," Nattie replied, "Cyn is out."
"I—I beg pardon. Is ityou?" the shadow asked with accents of delight.
Nattie acknowledged the "you."
"And you—you are alone?"
Nattie glanced around the room hoping the Duchess had strayed in, so she might truthfully say no. But she was compelled to reply in the affirmative.
"Glorious opportunity—I—it must not be wasted! I—I will explain, you know!" he exclaimed, excitedly and incoherently. But to Nattie's surprise, instead of entering, he darted away in such a tremendous hurry that he stumbled and fell, and she distinctly heard his skull bang against his own door.
But his last words were too ominous, and she was too well acquainted with his peculiarities to flatter herself she was permanently relieved of his company. He had perhaps gone to brush his hair, or take some quieting drops, but she knew he had certainly not gone to stay, and not being exactly in the humor for his company, Nattie resolved to fly ignominiously. Afraid of returning to her own room, lest she might meet him and be taken captive, she quietly retired into Cyn's bed-room. In a few moments she heard him stumbling over a stool in the parlor, and was just thinking that if he should take it into his head to remain any length of time, she would be in rather a predicament, when to her surprise she heard him say,
"I—I must speak! I—I hope this time I shall remember what I have so often—so often said in the privacy of my own apartment, to—if I may confess it—to a pillow—a pair of pants and a coat—placed in a chair as a poor effigy of—of you, you know. Will you—will you—don't speak, but let me alone, hear me and let the—the flow of language come!"
He paused, and in the greatest bewilderment, Nattie stared at the opposite wall. Did he by some powerful intuition discern she was within hearing distance, or was he in his disappointment rehearsing to her empty chair? Before Nattie could decide between these two solutions of his conduct, another voice, the voice of Celeste, said faintly and affectedly,
"Oh, Quimby"
And then Nattie comprehended the situation. After her own retreat, Celeste had entered and taken the just vacated chair. It was twilight. Celeste wore a black dress like hers, her hair was dressed in the same style, and was the same color, and Quimby had mistaken her for Nattie! And in his excitement and struggle with that "flow of language," he did not notice even that it was not Nattie's voice saying "Oh, Quimby!" for he continued,
"I—I—you may reject me—I am afraid you will, but I must say it, you know. I must, or I shall—I shall explode and fly into atoms!"
Here Celeste gave a little scream, but he went on determinedly, making the most of his "glorious opportunity."
"I—I am not like other fellows, you know! that is, I mean I have not the—the brass, if I may so express myself, and I am always doing something wrong—but I am used to it, you know—the question is, could you get used to it? for I have a heart that is—that is honest, and that beats all full of love—of—love for—you know who I mean!"
There was a murmured "oh!" from Celeste, as Quimby paused to wipe from his brow the perspiration called forth by his arduous undertaking.
"What shall I do!" frantically thought the perplexed listener, divided between the ludicrous part of the affair, and her desire to save him from the dilemma into which he was rushing; "whatcanI do? oh! if Cyn would only come!"
But Cyn came not, and while Nattie paused, irresolute, and not knowing what course to take, Quimby went on to his fate.
"I have thought, sometimes, that you liked some other fellow—Clem, I mean—" Nattie felt herself blush in the darkness—"but I do hope not! the thought has made me boil in secret often, and he loves Cyn, you know—" Nattie's color left her face as quickly as it had come—"but oh!" and he went down on to his knees with a whack that made the vases on the mantel jingle. "Let me tell you what I tried twice before to say, what is always in my thoughts! I—I adore you! the ground you walk on! and have, ever since I first saw your nose! I—I beg pardon, but I fell in love with your nose! and will you—can you tell me that you don't love any other fellow—Clem, I mean—and share my little property, and be—be Mrs. Quimby, you know!"
"Ah! really I—such a trying moment!—but dear,dearQuimby, I never cared for Clem, never only for you—and I am yours!"
With these words, Celeste precipitated herself into his arms, and the next moment Nattie heard a crash as they both fell on the floor. The sudden shock of recognition that then burst upon him, weakened him to such an extent that he could not support himself, much less her, so down they went!
"He must know who it is now!" thought Nattie, with a sigh of relief.
And meanwhile Celeste had picked herself up, but Quimby still remained flat on the floor, bracing himself up by his hands on either side, and staring at her, motionless. Fortunately it was too dark for her to see the expression of his face.
"Did you hurt yourself?" asked Celeste at length. "Let me help you up!We are to help each other now, you know."
Quimby groaned.
"Oh, misery!" he gasped. "This—my destiny is too much for me! Oh! the evil deeds of darkness! Listen to me, I implore you! It is all a mistake! I thought—"
"Of course it was a mistake! You did not suppose I thought you fell purposely, did you, dear?" quickly interrupted Celeste, blindly or willfully misunderstanding—who shall say which? "But please get up, Cyn may come."
At this Quimby scrambled to his feet with startling suddenness, and exclaiming hastily,
"I will—I will write and tell you all—all!I have an engagement now with a friend just around the corner!" he rushed from the room, and would have flown, but the pertinacious Celeste had followed, and just as he reached the outside hall, regardless of the publicity, flung herself around his neck, this time without bringing him to the ground.
"It is not necessary to write!" she cried. "Pray, do not take such a trifle so much to heart. Remember I am yours, and—"
Another voice from the stairs just above the pair, interrupted her. It was the voice of Fishblatepere, and it said,
"Hugging! Marry her!"
"I—I—will!" wailed the now alarmed Quimby, as Celeste blushingly withdrew from her embrace of him. "I—I will see you to-morrow if I—if I live!" and striking his forehead with his hand, he burst away, bounded frantically down the stairs and fled, ejaculating,
"I knew it! I had a presentiment from my youth!"
"Excuse his eccentricity, Pa!" Celeste said. "He loves mesomuch, poor fellow!"
"Humph! Get enough ofthat!" he growled, with contempt.
"And he has a nice little property!" added Celeste, as they went up stairs.
"Property is the thing!" Fishblateperesaid, with undisguised plainness.
Nattie emerged from her retreat on the hasty exit of Quimby and Celeste, so full of regret for the flight that had proved so disastrous to him, that the ludicrous part of the scene just enacted was forgotten.
"Poor Quimby!" she thought, remorsefully. "What a dreadful fix he is in! I hope he will get out of it; and I am so sorry for my share in it! How strange it would be if he should, as he once said, marry the wrong woman, after all!"
When Quimby rushed out into the street, it was with some wild and indefinite intention of flying to the ends of the earth, but recalled to his senses by the stares of the passers-by, he concluded he had better first return and get his hat. When he reached his own room, where Clem was thoughtfully pacing the floor, he flung himself face downwards upon the bed, groaning and kicking his feet spasmodically.
"What is the matter?" Clem inquired.
"I've done it now! I've done it now!" was all the answer Quimby gave him.
"Has she rejected you?" asked Clem, his mind going back to their morning's conversation.
"No! no! she has accepted me!" wailed Quimby, with a prodigious kick.
"What!" shouted Clem, stopping short in his promenade.
"She has! Oh, she has!" moaned the wretched victim of mistakes. "I am engaged! Oh, heavens! engaged!"
"Do you mean to tell me that Miss Rogers has accepted you?" inquiredClem harshly.
This name completely unmanned poor Quimby, and he began to cry like a school-boy.
"Miss Rogers!—No! never—never! butshe—Celeste!"
"Celeste!" echoed Clem; "Celeste!"
"Yes! I—oh!—I made a mistake, you know!" explained Quimby, wiping his eyes on the bedspread.
An irresistible smile, but quickly suppressed, curved Clem's lips as he asked,
"But how could you possibly make such a mistake as that? Come, cheer up, my boy, tell me, and let me help you out!"
Quimby looked at him mournfully.
"It—it was dark," he answered dejectedly, "she sat in the chair—the lost Nattie I mean, it was she, for she spoke to me! Why did I not seize the chance then? But no! I left her to—to rehearse a little first, and when I returned—Oh!—it was still dark, and I did not know a transformation had been effected—I burst forth in eloquence, and—oh!—it was Celeste, you know! I fled—she followed,—caught and hugged me in the hall! Her father saw—roared 'Marry her' and I—there was no escape, you know!"
"But, my dear fellow," remonstrated Clem, "you can explain the mistake! you are not obliged to marry Celeste because you accidentally proposed to her!"
Quimby shook his head hopelessly.
"She—she—would sue me for breach of promise you know, and take all—all my little property! And her terrific father—I don't know what he would not do to me! Only one thing could make me brave all!—If Miss Rogers—Nattie, would say it might have been, had not this fearful mistake occurred, I would face even old Fishblate and break all bonds."
"Dear old fellow, I am afraid she—Nattie would have rejected you, in any case. She is—a flirt!" said Clem, somewhat savagely. "She leads people on, for the sake of dropping them, when it suits her convenience!"
"I—now really, I—I cannot think that; even though she had rejected me, I could not thinkthat!" said Quimby, loyally; then with sudden decision, "I will settle it now! If I had not put it off before, as I did, I might not have blundered into this awful fix, you know! I hear them in Cyn's room now; Cyn and Nattie; come with me! I—I will have witnesses, and no mistakes this time, you know!"
"What are you going to do?" asked Clem, following his excited friend, rather reluctantly.
"I am going to find out if she—Nattie—likes me, you know! if she does, I will brave Celeste—her fierce father—the law! if not—why then, I must be a martyr anyway, you know, and I don't care how big a one I am!"
So saying, Quimby went across to Cyn's room, Clem, not exactly liking the position thrust upon him, but unwilling to refuse, accompanying him.
Meanwhile, Nattie had pounced upon Cyn, the moment she returned, exclaiming,
"Oh! Cyn! such a dreadful thing has happened!"
"What? how? when?" asked Cyn, while, from the effects of the melodrama she had just been witnessing, visions of Clem, with a dozen bullets in his head, danced before her eyes.
"Quimby! poor Quimby! I have ruined him!" was Nattie's remorseful and unintelligible answer.
"Well, my dear, if you could possibly be a trifle lucid, perhaps I could understand the plot of the piece," said Cyn, decidedly relieved of her first surmise.
Upon which Nattie, half laughing and half crying, explained. But the ludicrous side was too much for Cyn, and she could only laugh.
"What a farce it would make!" she said, as soon as she could speak.
"Oh, Cyn!" Nattie said, reproachfully. "Think how dreadful it is forQuimby, and for me, the un-meaning instrument of it all!"
"Nonsense, my dear," said Cyn, more seriously, and bringing her philosophy to bear on the subject, "It was not your fault! she was determined to have him in any case! Had it been you, as he supposed, you would of course have declined the proffered honor, and she would have caught him in the rebound! If he has spirit enough, he can get out of marrying her in some way. If not—she will make him a good wife enough. Men, you know, as she says, prefer to marry women who don't know too much; so it is all right!"
And with this Nattie was fain to be content. But she felt great pity for the poor fellow; perhaps because of the unhappiness in her own heart.
It is only from the depths of our own sorrows that we learn to feel for that of others.
As Quimby and Clem entered, both Nattie and Cyn looked surprised and curious, but Quimby, so excited now that his usual nervous bashfulness was forgotten, said immediately,
"I—I beg pardon, I am sure, for calling so late, but my business will not wait, and I wanted Clem as witness—he and Cyn—so as to make no mistake now!" then turning to the astonished Nattie, he went on,
"Nattie, I—I—my feelings for you have long been of—of adoration—no, please, hear me—" as she made a gesture to interrupt him. "To-night, in this room, I addressed another—Celeste—" here he groaned, but recovered himself and went on, "in the dark, you know, with words intended for you. I want to know now, what, had I not been so deceived, you would have said?"
"But what difference can it make now?" asked Nattie, hesitating, and wishing to spare him, as he paused for a reply.
"Every difference!" said Quimby, wildly. "I beg you to—to answer me truly, in order that I may know what course to take!"
"Then since you wish," replied Nattie, with a pitying glance, "I will tell you that as a friend I think very highly of you, and always shall. But, that is all."
"Then come on, Celeste!" exclaimed Quimby, in a burst of despair. "She—she says, she loves me, and I—I may get used to it in time! all but her teeth," he added, in his strict honesty, "to those I never can!"
Cyn felt a mischievous desire to hint that time might relieve him of his objection, but restrained herself and said,
"But you can explain the matter to her, you know!"
"Just what I have been telling him," said Clem. "No woman would force herself on a man under such circumstances!"
"She would, I feel it!" answered the unconvinced Quimby. "Miss Rogers—Nattie, I—I thank you, I—I shall always remember you as something unattainable and dear, and hope somebody more worthy may be to you what I would have been if I could. But I—I was born to make mistakes, you know, and I—I am used to it—and ought to be thankful it was not Miss Kling!"
"I am very, very sorry!" murmured Nattie, and Clem saw there were tears in her eyes.
"Moral—never make love in the dark!" said Cyn, looking with solemn warning at Clem.
"Be sure that all—all the gas in the room is lighted if ever you propose!" added Quimby, miserably, to his friend.
"I will remember," said Clem, glancing at Nattie. "There are worse mistakes made in the dark than on the wire, it seems!"
"Far—far worse!" groaned Quimby, as Nattie hastily turned her head aside.
"But now, really, Quimby!" urged Cyn, seriously, "do be sensible. Do not be foolish enough to marry a woman you do not want, because you cannot have the one you do!"
But Quimby, with the fear of old Fishblate, and a breach of promise suit, and a dread of explanations in his mind—moreover, having firmly decided that a little more or less of misery did not matter, could not be persuaded to take any steps himself, or allow them to be taken, to free himself from the result of his latest mistake.
Therefore, it came about, to the surprise of those not in the secret, and the unconcealed exultation of one of the parties immediately concerned, that the engagement of Quimby and Celeste was announced.