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 walked
down 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 slight
tendency 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 exchange
cards, 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 in
a 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. This
helped 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 stammered
slightly) "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 your
salary 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, fearful
that 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.
