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RUPERT  HUGHfcS 


— ** 
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EXCUSE  ME! 


- 


EXCUSE  ME! 


By  RUPERT  HUGHES 


Author  of  "The   Old   Nest" 


WITH  FIVE   JtLun  RATIONS 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  NEW  YORK. 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
THE  H.  K.  FLY  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Wreck  of  the  Taxicab 9 

II.  The  Early  Birds  and  the  Worm.  .    16 

III.  In  Darkest  Chicago 26 

IV.  A  Mouse  and  a  Mountain 35 

V.  A  Queen  Among  Women 47 

VI.  A  Conspiracy  in  Satin 53 

VII.  The  Masked  Minister 60 

VIII.  A  Mixed  Pickle 65 

IX.  All  Aboard! 75 

X.  Excess  Baggage 84 

XI.  A  Chance  Rencounter 88 

XII.  The  Needle  in  the  Haystack 92 

XIII.  Hostilities  Begin 99 

XIV.  The  Dormitory  on  Wheels 103 

XV.  A  Premature  Divorce 106 

XVI.  Good  Night,  All ! 115 

XVII.  Last  Call  for  Breakfast 122 

XVIII.  In  the  Composite  Car 128 

XIX.  Foiled! 139 

XX.  Foiled  Again ! 142 

XXI.  Matrimony  To  and  Fro 147 

XXII.  In  the  Smoking  Room 156 

222S376 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIII.  Through  a  Tunnel 164 

XXIV.  The  Train  Butcher 1 73 

XXV.  The  Train  Wrecker 1 80 

XXVI.  Delilah  and  the  Conductor 186 

XXVII.  The  Dog-on  Dog  Again 191 

XXVIII.  The  Woman-Hater's  Relapse 203 

XXIX.  Jealousy  Comes  Aboard 213 

XXX.  A  Wedding  on  Wheels 222 

XXXI.  Foiled  Yet  Again 227 

XXXII.  The  Empty  Berth 233 

XXXIII.  Fresh  Trouble  Daily 237 

XXXIV.  The  Complete  Divorcer 252 

XXXV.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Little  Jimmie 266 

XXXVI.  A  Duel  for  a  Bracelet 273 

XXXVII.  Down  Brakes! 278 

XXXVIII.  Hands  Upl 284 

XXXIX.  Wolves  in  the  Fold 296 

XL.  A  Hero  in  Spite  of  Himself 304 

XLI.  Clickety-Clickety-Clickety 308 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

No  tips  were  to  be  expected  from  such 

transients Frontispiece 

PAGE 

"Now  it's  my  vacation,  and  I'm  going  to  smoke 

up"  62 

Marjorie  fairly  forced  the  dog  on  him 94 

Down  upon  the  unsuspecting  elopers  came  this 

miraculous  cloudburst  of  ironical  rice.  ...  1 18 

"Why,  Richard— Chauncey !— er— Billy!  Fm 

amazed  at  you!  Let  go,  or  I'll  scream!"  276 


EXCUSE  ME! 

CHAPTER  I 

THE  WRECK  OF  THE  TAXICAB 

THE  young  woman  in  the  taxicab  scuttling  fran- 
tically down  the  dark  street,  clung  to  the  arm  of  the 
young  man  alongside,  as  if  she  were  terrified  at  the 
lawbreaking,  neck-risking  speed.  But  evidently 
some  greater  fear  goaded  her,  for  she  gasped: 

"Can't  he  go  a  little  faster?" 

"Can't  you  go  a  little  faster?"  The  young  man 
alongside  howled  as  he  thrust  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders through  the  window  in  the  door. 

But  the  self-created  taxi-gale  swept  his  voice  aft, 
and  the  taut  chauffeur  perked  his  ear  in  vain  to  catch 
the  vanishing  syllables. 

"What's  that?"  he  roared. 

"Can't  you  go  a  little  faster?" 

The  indignant  charioteer  simply  had  to  shoot  one 
barbed  glare  of  reproach  into  that  passenger.  He 
turned  his  head  and  growled : 

"Say,  do  youse  want  to  lose  me  me  license?" 

9 


10  EXCUSE  ME! 

For  just  one  instant  he  turned  his  head.  One  in- 
stant was  just  enough.  The  unguarded  taxicab  seized 
the  opportunity,  -bolted  from  the  track,  and  flung, 
as  it  were,  its  arms  drunkenly  around  a  perfectly 
respectable  lamppost  attending  strictly  to  its  business 
on  the  curb.  There  ensued  a  condensed  Fourth  of 
July.  Sparks  flew,  tires  exploded,  metals  ripped,  two 
wheels  spun  in  air  and  one  wheel,  neatly  severed  at 
the  axle,  went  reeling  down  the  sidewalk  half  a  block 
before  it  leaned  against  a  tree  and  rested. 

A  dozen  or  more  miracles  coincided  to  save  the 
passengers  from  injury.  The  young  man  found  him- 
self standing  on  the  pavement  with  the  unhinged 
door  still  around  his  neck.  The  young  woman's 
arms  were  round  his  neck.  Her  head  was  on  his 
shoulder.  It  had  reposed  there  often  enough,  but 
never  before  in  the  street  under  a  lamppost.  The 
chauffeur  found  himself  in  the  road,  walking  about 
on  all  fours,  like  a  bewildered  quadruped. 

Evidently  some  overpowering  need  for  speed  pos- 
sessed the  young  woman,  for  even  now  she  did  not 
scream,  she  did  not  faint,  she  did  not  murmur, 
"Where  am  I?"  She  simply  said: 

"What  time  is  it,  honey?" 

And  the  young  man,  not  realizing  how  befuddled 
he  really  was,  or  how  his  hand  trembled,  fetched 
out  his  watch  and  held  it  under  the  glow  of  the 
lamppost,  which  was  now  bent  over  in  a  convenient 
but  disreputable  attitude. 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  TAXICAB          11 

"A  quarter  to  ten,  sweetheart.  Plenty  of  time 
for  the  train." 

"But  the  minister,  honey!  What  about  the  min- 
ister? How  are  we  going  to  get  to  the  minister?" 

The  consideration  of  this  riddle  was  interrupted 
by  a  muffled  hubbub  of  yelps,  whimpers,  and  canine 
hysterics.  Immediately  the  young  woman  forgot 
ministers,  collisions,  train-schedules  —  everything. 
She  showed  her  first  sign  of  panic. 

"Snoozleums!    Get  Snoozleums!" 

They  groped  about  in  the  topsy-turvy  taxicab,  rum- 
maged among  a  jumble  of  suitcases,  handbags,  um- 
brellas and  minor  impedimenta,  and  fished  out  a 
small  dog-basket  with  an  inverted  dog  inside. 
Snoozleums  was  ridiculous  in  any  position^  but  as 
he  slid  tail  foremost  from  the  wicker  basket,  he 
resembled  nothing  so  much  as  a  heap  of  tangled  yarn 
tumbling  out  of  a  work-basket.  He  was  an  indignant 
skein,  and  had  much  to  say  before  he  consented  to 
snuggle  under  his  mistress'  chin. 

About  this  time  the  chauffeur  came  prowling  into 
view.  He  was  too  deeply  shocked  to  emit  any  lan- 
guage of  the  garage.  He  was  too  deeply  shocked  to 
achieve  any  comment  more  brilliant  than: 

"That  mess  don't  look  much  like  it  ever  was  a 
taxicab,  does  it?" 

The  young  man  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  stared 
up  and  down  the  long  street  for  another.  The  young 


12  EXCUSE  ME! 

woman    looked    sorrowfully    at    the    wreck,    and 
queried : 

"Do  you  think  you  can  make  it  go?" 
The  chauffeur  glanced  her  way,  more  in  pity  for 
her  whole  sex  than  in  scorn  for  this  one  type,  as  he 
mumbled: 

"Make  it  go?    It'll  take  a  steam  winch  a  week  to 
unwrap  it  from  that  lamppost." 
The  young  man  apologized. 
"I  oughtn't  to  have  yelled  at  you." 
He  was  evidently  a  very  nice  young  man.    Not  to 
be  outdone  in  courtesy,  the  chauffeur  retorted : 
"I  hadn't  ought  to  have  turned  me  head." 
The  young  woman  thought,  "What  a  nice  chauf- 
feur !"  but  she  gasped :  "Great  heavens,  you're  hurt !" 
"It's  nuttin'  but  a  scratch  on  me  t'umb." 
"Lend  me  a  clean  handkerchief,  Harry." 
The  young  man  whipped  out  his  reserve  supply, 
and  in  a  trice  it  was  a  bandage  on  the  chauffeur's 
hand.    The  chauffeur  decided  that  the  young  woman 
was  even  nicer  than  the  young  man.  But  he  could  not 
settle  on  a  way  to  say  to  it.    So  he  said  nothing,  and 
grinned  sheepishly  as  he  said  it. 

The  young  man  named  Harry  was  wondering  how 
they  were  to  proceed.     He  had  already  studied  the 
region  with  dismay,  when  the  girl  resolved: 
"We'll  have  to  take  another  taxi,  Harry." 
"Yes,  Marjorie,  but  we  can't  take  it  till  we  get 
it." 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  TAXICAB          13 

"You  might  wait  here  all  night  wit'out  ketchin' 
a  glimp'  of  one,"  the  chauffeur  ventured.  "I  come 
this  way  because  you  wanted  me  to  take  a  short 
cut." 

"It's  the  longest  short  cut  I  ever  saw,"  the  young 
man  sighed,  as  he  gazed  this  way  and  that. 

The  place  of  their  shipwreck  was  so  deserted  that 
not  even  a  crowd  had  gathered.  The  racket  of  the 
collision  had  not  brought  a  single  policeman.  They 
were  in  a  dead  world  of  granite  warehouses,  whole- 
sale stores  and  factories,  all  locked  and  forbidding, 
and  full  of  silent  gloom. 

In  the  daytime  this  was  a  big  trade-artery  of  Chi- 
cago, and  all  day  long  it  was  thunderous  with  trucks 
and  commerce.  At  night  it  was  Pompeii,  so  utterly 
abandoned  that  the  night  watchmen  rarely  slept  out' 
side,  and  no  footpad  found  it  worth  while  to  set  up 
shop. 

The  three  castaways  stared  every  which  way,  and 
every  which  way  was  peace.  The  ghost  of  a  pedes- 
trian or  two  hurried  by  in  the  far  distance.  A  cat  or 
two  went  furtively  in  search  of  warfare  or  romance. 
The  lampposts  stretched  on  and  on  in  both  direc- 
tions in  two  forevers. 

In  the  faraway  there  was  a  muffled  rumble  and 
the  faint  clang  of  a  bell.  Somewhere  a  street  car 
was  bumping  along  its  rails. 

"Our  only  hope,"  said  Harry.  "Come  along, 
Marjorie." 


K  EXCUSE  ME! 

He  handed  the  chauffeur  five  dollars  as  a  poultice 
to  his  wounds,  tucked  the  girl  under  one  arm  and 
the  dog-basket  under  the  other,  and  set  out,  calling 
back  to  the  chauffeur: 

"Goodnight!" 

"Good  night!"  the  girl  called  back. 

"Good  night!"  the  chauffeur  echoed.  He  stood 
watching  them  with  the  tender  gaze  that  even  a 
chauffeur  may  feel  for  young  love  hastening  to  a 
honeymoon. 

He  stood  beaming  so,  till  their  footsteps  died  in 
the  silence.  Then  he  turned  back  to  the  chaotic  rem- 
nants of  his  machine.  He  worked  at  it  hopelessly 
for  some  time,  before  he  had  reason  to  look  within. 
There  he  found  the  handbags  and  suitcases,  umbrel- 
las and  other  equip  nent.  He  ran  to  the  corner  to 
call  after  the  owners.  They  were  as  absent  of  body 
as  they  had  been  absent  of  mind. 

He  remembered  the  street-number  they  had  given 
him  as  their  destination.  He  waited  till  at  last  a 
yawning  policeman  sauntered  that  way  like  a  lonely 
beach  patrol,  and  left  him  in  charge  while  he  went 
to  telephone  his  garage  for  a  wagon  and  a  wrecking 
crew. 

It  was  close  on  midnight  before  he  reached  the 
number  his  fares  had  given  him.  It  was  a  parson- 
age leaning  against  a  church.  He  rang  the  bell  and 
finally  produced  from  an  upper  window  a  nightshirt 
topped  by  a  frowsy  head.  He  explained  the  situa- 


THE  WRECK  OF  THE  TAXICAB          15 

tion,  and  his  possession  of  certain  properties  belong- 
ing to  parties  unknown  except  by  their  first  names. 
The  clergyman  drowsily  murmured: 

"Oh,  yes.  I  remember.  The  young  man  was 
Lieutenant  Henry  Mallory,  and  he  said  he  would 
stop  here  with  a  young  lady,  and  get  married  on  the 
way  to  the  train.  But  they  never  turned  up." 

"Lieutenant  Mallory,  eh?  Where  could  I  reach 
him?" 

"He  said  he  was  leaving  to-night  for  the  Philip- 
pines." 

"The  Philippines!    Well,  I'll  be " 

The  minister  closed  the  window  just  in  time. 


ft 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  EARLY  BIRDS  AND  THE  WORM 

IN  the  enormous  barn  of  the  railroad  station  stood 
many  strings  of  cars,  as  if  a  gigantic  young  Gulliver 
stabled  his  toys  there  and  invisibly  amused  himself; 
now  whisking  this  one  away,  now  backing  that  other 
in. 

Some  of  the  trains  were  noble  equipages,  fitted  to 
glide  across  the  whole  map  with  cargoes  of  Lilli- 
putian millionaires  and  their  Lilliputian  ladies.  Oth- 
ers were  humble  and  shabby  linked-up  day-coaches 
and  dingy  smoking-cars,  packed  with  workers,  like 
ants. 

Cars  are  mere  vehicles,  but  locomotives  have  souls. 
The  express  engines  roll  in  or  stalk  out  with  gran- 
deur and  ease.  They  are  like  emperors.  They  seem 
to  look  with  scorn  at  the  suburban  engines  snorting 
and  grunting  and  shaking  the  arched  roof  with  their 
plebeian  choo-choo  as  they  puff  from  shop  to  cottage 
and  back. 

The  trainmen  take  their  cue  from  the  behavior  of 
their  locomotives.  The  conductor  of  a  transconti- 

16 


THE  EAELY  BIRDS  AND  THE  WORM      17 

nental  nods  to  the  conductor  of  a  shuttle-train  with 
less  cordiality  than  to  a  brakeman  of  his  own.  The 
engineers  of  the  limiteds  look  like  senators  in  over- 
alls. They  are  far-traveled  men,  leading  a  mighty 
life  of  adventure.  They  are  pilots  of  land-ships 
across  land-oceans.  They  have  a  right  to  a  certain 
condescension  of  manner. 

But  no  one  feels  or  shows  so  much  arrogance  as 
the  sleeping  car  porters.  They  cannot  pronounce 
"supercilious,"  but  they  can  be  it  Their  disdain 
for  the  entire  crew  of  any  train  that  carries  merely 
day-coaches  or  half-baked  chair-cars,  is  expressed  as 
only  a  darkey  in  a  uniform  can  express  disdain  for 
poor  white  trash. 

Of  all  the  haughty  porters  that  ever  curled  a  lip, 
the  haughtiest  by  far  was  the  dusky  attendant  in  the 
San  Francisco  sleeper  on  the  Trans-American  Lim- 
ited. His  was  the  train  of  trains  in  that  whole  sys- 
tem. His  car  the  car  of  cars.  His  passengers  the 
surpassengers  of  all. 

His  train  stood  now  waiting  to  set  forth  upon  a 
voyage  of  two  thousand  miles,  a  journey  across  seven 
imperial  States,  a  journey  that  should  end  only  at 
that  marge  where  the  continent  dips  and  vanishes 
under  the  breakers  of  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

At  the  head  of  his  car,  with  his  little  box-step  wait- 
ing for  the  foot  of  the  first  arrival,  the  porter  stood, 
his  head  swelling  under  his  cap,  his  breast  swelling 
beneath  his  blue  blouse,  with  its  brass  buttons  like 


18  EXCUSE  ME! 

reflections  of  his  own  eyes.  His  name  was  Ells- 
worth Jefferson,  but  he  was  called  anything  from 
"Poarr-turr"  to  "Pawtah,"  and  he  usually  did  not 
come  when  he  was  called. 

To-night  he  was  wondering  perhaps  what  passen- 
gers, with  what  dispositions,  would  fall  to  his  lot. 
Perhaps  he  was  wondering  what  his  Chicago  sweet- 
heart would  be  doing  in  the  eight  days  before  his 
return.  Perhaps  he  was  wondering  what  his  San 
Francisco  sweetheart  had  been  doing  in  the  five  days 
since  he  left  her,  and  how  she  would  pass  the  three 
days  that  must  intervene  before  he  reached  her 
again. 

He  had  Othello's  ebon  color.  Did  he  have  Othel- 
lo's green  eye? 

Whatever  his  thoughts,  he  chatted  gaily  enough 
with  his  neighbor  and  colleague  of  the  Portland 
sleeper. 

Suddenly  he  stopped  in  the  midst  of  a  soaring 
chuckle. 

"Lordy,  man,  looky  what's  a-cominM" 

The  Portland  porter  turned  to  gaze. 

"I  got  my  fingers  crossed." 

"I  hope  you  git  him." 

"I  hope  I  don't." 

"He'll  work  you  hard  and  cuss  you  out,  and  he 
won't  give  you  even  a  Much  Obliged." 

"That's  right.  He  ain't  got  a  usher  to  carry  his 
things.  And  he's  got  enough  to  fill  a  van." 


THE  EARLY  BIRDS  AND  THE  WORM      19 

The  oncomer  was  plainly  of  English  origin.  It 
takes  all  sorts  of  people  to  make  up  the  British 
Empire,  and  there  is  no  sort  lacking — glorious  or 
pretty,  or  sour  or  sweet.  But  this  was  the  type  of 
English  globe-trotter  that  makes  himself  as  unpopu- 
lar among  foreigners  as  he  is  among  his  own  peo- 
ple. He  is  almost  as  unendurable  as  the  Americans 
abroad  who  twang  their  banjo  brag  through  Europe, 
and  berate  France  and  Italy  for  their  innocence  of 
buckwheat  cakes. 

The  two  porters  regarded  Mr.  Harold  Wedge- 
wood  with  dread,  as  he  bore  down  on  them.  He 
was  almost  lost  in  the  plethora  of  his  own  luggage. 
He  asked  for  the  San  Francisco  sleeper,  and  the 
Portland  porter  had  to  turn  away  to  smother  his 
gurgling  relief. 

Ellsworth  Jefferson's  heart  sank.  He  made  a 
feeble  effort  at  self-protection.  The  Pullman  con- 
ductor not  being  present  at  the  moment,  he  inquired : 

"Have  you  got  yo'  ticket?" 

"Of  cawse." 

"Could  I  see  it?" 

"Of  cawse  not.    Too  much  trouble  to  fish  it  out." 

The  porter  was  fading.  "Do  you  remember  yo' 
numba  ?" 

"Of  cawse.  Take  these-"  He  began  to  pile 
things  on  the  porter  like  a  mountain  unloading  an 
avalanche.  The  porter  stumbled  as  he  clambered  up 
the  steps,  and  squeezed  through  the  strait  path  of 


20  EXCUSE  ME! 

the  corridor  into  the  slender  aisle.  He  turned  again 
and  again  to  question  the  invader,  but  he  was  mo- 
tioned and  bunted  down  the  car,  till  he  was  halted 
with  a  "This  will  do." 

The  Englishman  selected  section  three  for  his 
own.  The  porter  ventured :  "Are  you  sho'  this  is  yo' 
numba  ?" 

"Of  cawse  I'm  shaw.  How  dare  you  question 
my " 

"I  wasn't  questionin'  you,  boss,  I  was  just  astin' 
you." 

He  resigned  himself  to  the  despot,  and  began  to 
transfer  his  burdens  to  the  seat.  But  he  did  nothing 
to  the  satisfaction  of  the  Englishman.  Everything 
must  be  placed  otherwise ;  the  catch-all  here,  the  port- 
manteau there,  the  Gladstone  there,  the  golfsticks 
there,  the  greatcoat  there,  the  raincoat  there.  The 
porter  was  puffing  like  a  donkey-engine,  and  mutiny 
was  growing  in  his  heart.  His  last  commission  was 
the  hanging  up  of  the  bowler  hat. 

He  stood  on  the  arm  of  the  seat  to  reach  the  high 
hook.  From  here  he  paused  to  glare  down  with 
an  attempt  at  irony. 

"Is  they  anything  else?" 

"No.    You  may  get  down." 

The  magnificent  patronage  of  this  wilted  the  por- 
ter completely.  He  returned  to  the  lower  level,  and 
shuffled  along  the  aisle  in  a  trance.  He  was  quickly 
recalled  by  a  sharp : 


THE  EARLY  BIRDS  AND  THE  WORM      21 

"Pawtah!" 

"Yassah!" 

"What  time  does  this  bally  train  start?" 

"Ten-thutty,  sah." 

"But  it's  only  ten  now." 

"Yassah.    It'll  be  ten-thutty  a  little  later." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  I've  got  to  sit  hyah 
for  half  an  hour — just  waitin'?" 

The  porter  essayed  another  bit  of  irony: 

"Well,"  he  drawled,  "I  might  tell  the  conducta 
you're  ready.  And  mebbe  he'd  start  the  train.  But 
the  time-table  says  ten-thutty." 

He  watched  the  effect  of  his  satire,  but  it  fell  back 
unheeded  from  the  granite  dome  of  the  Englishman, 
whose  only  comment  was : 

"Oh,  never  mind.    I'll  wait." 

The  porter  cast  his  eyes  up  in  despair,  and  turned 
away,  once  more  to  be  recalled. 

"Oh,  pawtah!" 

"Yassah!" 

"I  think  we'll  put  on  my  slippahs." 

"Will  we?" 

"You  might  hand  me  that  large  bag.  No,  stu- 
pid, the  othah  one.  You  might  open  it.  No,  its 
in  the  othah  one.  Ah,  that's  it.  You  may  set  it 
down." 

Mr.  Wedgewood  brought  forth  a  soft  cap  and  a 
pair  of  red  slippers.  The  porter  made  another  effort 


22  EXCUSE  ME! 

to  escape,  his  thoughts  as  black  as  his  face.  Again 
the  relentless  recall: 

"Oh,  pawtah,  I  think  we'll  unbutton  my  boots." 

He  was  too  weak  to  murmur  "Yassah."  He  sim- 
ply fell  on  one  knee  and  got  to  work. 

There  was  a  witness  to  his  helpless  rage — a  new- 
comer, the  American  counterpart  of  the  Englishman 
in  all  that  makes  travel  difficult  for  the  fellow  trav- 
elers. Ira  Lathrop  was  zealous  to  resent  anything 
short  of  perfection,  quick  and  loud  of  complaint,  ap- 
parently impossible  to  please. 

In  everything  else  he  was  the  opposite  of  the  Eng- 
lishman. He  was  burly,  middle-aged,  rough,  care- 
less in  attire,  careless  of  speech — as  uncouth  and 
savage  as  one  can  well  be  who  is  plainly  a  man  of 
means. 

It  was  not  enough  that  a  freeborn  Afro-American 
should  be  caught  kneeling  to  an  Englishman.  But 
when  he  had  escaped  this  penance,  and  advanced 
hospitably  to  the  newcomer,  he  must  be  greeted  with 
a  snarl. 

"Say,  are  you  the  porter  of  this  car,  or  that 
man's  nurse?" 

"I  can't  tell  yet.    What's  yo'  numba,  please?" 

The  answer  was  the  ticket.  The  porter  screwed 
up  his  eyes  to  read  the  pencilled  scrawl. 

"Numba  se'm.    Heah  she  is,  boss." 

"Right  next  to  a  lot  of  women,  I'll  bet.  Couldn't 
you  put  me  in  the  men's  end  of  the  car?" 


THE  EARLY  BIRDS  AND  THE  WORM      23 

"Not  ve'y  well,  suh.  I  reckon  the  cah  is  done 
sold  out." 

With  a  growl  of  rage,  Ira  Lathrop  slammed  into 
the  seat  his  entire  hand  baggage,  one  ancient  and 
rusty  valise. 

The  porter  gazed  upon  him  with  increased  depres- 
sion. The  passenger  list  had  opened  inauspiciously 
with  two  of  the  worst  types  of  travelers  the  Anglo- 
Saxon  race  has  developed. 

But  their  anger  was  not  their  worst  trait  in  the 
porter's  eyes.  He  was,  in  a  limited  way,  an  expert 
in  human  character. 

When  you  meet  a  stranger  you  reveal  your  own 
character  in  what  you  ask  about  his.  With  some,  the 
first  question  is,  "Who  are  his  people?"  With  oth- 
ers, "What  has  he  achieved?"  With  others,  "How 
much  is  he  worth?"  Each  gauges  his  cordiality  ac- 
cording to  his  estimate. 

The  porter  was  not  curious  on  any  of  these  points. 
He  showed  a  democratic  indifference  to  them.  His 
one  vital  inquiry  was : 

"How  much  will  he  tip?" 

His  inspection  of  his  first  two  charges  promised 
small  returns.  He  buttoned  up  his  cordiality,  and 
determined  to  waste  upon  them  the  irreducible  mini- 
mum of  attention. 

It  would  take  at  least  a  bridal  couple  to  restore 
the  balance.  But  bridal  couples  in  their  first  bloom 
rarely  fell  to  the  lot  of  that  porter,  for  what  bridal 


24  EXCUSE  ME! 

couple  wants  to  lock  itself  in  with  a  crowd  of  pas- 
sengers for  the  first  seventy-two  hours  of  wedded 
bliss? 

The  porter  banished  the  hope  as  a  vanity.  Lit- 
tle he  knew  how  eagerly  the  young  castaways  from 
that  wrecked  taxicab  desired  to  be  a  bridal  couple, 
and  to  catch  this  train. 

But  the  Englishman  was  restive  again: 

"  Pa wtah !    I  say,  pa wtah ! " 

"Yassahl" 

"What  time  are  we  due  in  San  Francisco?" 

"San  Francisco?  San  Francisco?  We  are  doo 
thah  the  evenin'  of  the  fo'th  day.  This  bein'  Mon- 
day, that  ought  to  bring  us  in  abote  Thuzzday 
evenin'." 

The  Yankee  felt  called  upon  to  check  the  foreign 
usurper. 

"Porrterr!" 

"Yassah!" 

"Don't  let  that  fellow  monopolize  you.  He  prob- 
ably won't  tip  you  at  all." 

The  porter  grew  confidential: 

"Oh,  I  know  his  kind,  sah.  They  don't  tip  you  for 
what  you  do  do,  but  they're  ready  letter  writers  to 
the  Sooperintendent  for  what  you  don't  do." 

"Pawtah!    I  say,  pawtah!" 

"Here,  porrterr." 

The  porter  tried  to  imitate  the  Irish  bird,  and  be 
in  two  places  at  once.  The  American  had  a  coin  in 


THE  EARLY  BIRDS  AND  THE  WORM      25 

his  hand.  The  porter  caught  the  gleam  of  it,  and 
flitted  thither.  The  Yankee  growled: 

"Don't  forget  that  I'm  on  the  train,  and  when  we 
get  to  'Frisco  there  may  be  something  more." 

The  porter  had  the  coin  in  his  hand.  Its  heft  was 
light.  He  sighed:  "I  hope  so." 

The  Englishman  was  craning  his  head  around  owl- 
ishly  to  ask: 

"I  say,  pawtah,  does  this  train  ever  get  wrecked?" 

"Well,  it  hasn't  yet,"  and  he  murmured  to  the 
Yankee,  "but  I  has  hopes." 

The  Englishman's  voice  was  querulous  again. 

"I  say,  pawtah,  open  a  window,  will  you?  The 
air  is  ghastly,  abso-ripping-lutely  ghastly." 

The  Yankee  growled: 

"No  wonder  we  had  the  Revolutionary  War!" 

Then  he  took  from  his  pocket  an  envelope  ad- 
dressed to  Ira  Lathrop  &  Co.,  and  from  the  enve- 
lope he  took  a  contract,  and  studied  it  grimly.  The 
envelope  bore  a  Chinese  stamp. 

The  porter,  as  he  struggled  with  an  obstinate  win- 
dow, wondered  what  sort  of  passenger  fate  would 
send  him  next. 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  DARKEST   CHICAGO 

THE  castaways  from  the  wrecked  taxicab  hur- 
ried along  the  doleful  street.  Both  of  them  knew 
their  Chicago,  but  this  part  of  it  was  not  their 
Chicago. 

They  hailed  a  pedestrian,  to  ask  where  the  near- 
est street  car  line  might  be,  and  whither  it  might  run. 
He  answered  indistinctly  from  a  discreet  distance,  as 
he  hastened  away.  Perhaps  he  thought  their  ques- 
tion merely  a  footpad's  introduction  to  a  sandbag- 
ging episode.  In  Chicago  at  night  one  never  knows. 

"As  near  as  I  can  make  out  what  he  said,  Mar- 
jorie,"  the  lieutenant  pondered  aloud,  "wxe  walk 
straight  ahead  till  we  come  to  Umtyump  Street,  and 
there  we  find  a  Rarara  car  that  will  take  us  to  Blop- 
tyblop  Avenue.  I  never  heard  of  any  such  streets, 
did  you?" 

"Never,"  she  panted,  as  she  jog-trotted  alongside 
his  military  pace.  "Let's  take  the  first  car  we  meet, 
and  perhaps  the  conductor  can  put  us  off  at  the  street 
where  the  minister  lives." 

"Perhaps."  There  was  not  much  confidence  in 
that  "perhaps." 

26 


IN  DARKEST  CHICAGO  27 

When  they  reached  the  street-carred  street,  they 
found  two  tracks,  but  nothing  occupying  them,  as  far 
as  they  could  peer  either  way.  A  small  shopkeeper 
in  a  tiny  shop  proved  to  be  a  delicatessen  merchant 
so  busily  selling  foreign  horrors  to  aliens,  that  they 
learned  nothing  from  him. 

At  length,  in  the  far-away,  they  made  out  a  head- 
light, and  heard  the  grind  and  squeal  of  a  car.  Lieu- 
tenant Mallory  waited  for  it,  watch  in  hand.  He 
boosted  Marjorie's  elbow  aboard  and  bombarded 
the  conductor  with  questions.  But  the  conductor  had 
no  more  heard  of  their  street  than  they  had  of  his. 
Their  agitation  did  not  disturb  his  stoic  calm,  but  he 
invited  them  to  come  along  to  the  next  crossing, 
where  they  could  find  another  car  and  more  learned 
conductors;  or,  what  promised  better,  perhaps  a 
cab. 

He  threw  Marjorie  into  a  panic  by  ordering  her 
to  jettison  Snoozleums,  but  the  lieutenant  bought 
his  soul  for  a  small  price,  and  overlooked  the  fact 
that  he  did  not  ring  up  their  fares. 

The  young  couple  squeezed  into  a  seat  and  talked 
anxiously  in  sharp  whispers. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  terrible,  Harry,  if,  just  as  we  got 
to  the  minister's,  we  should  find  papa  there  ahead 
of  us,  waiting  to  forbid  the  bands,  or  whatever  it  is? 
Wouldn't  it  be  just  terrible?" 

"Yes,  it  would,  honey,  but  it  doesn't  seem  prob- 
able. There  are  thousands  of  ministers  in  Chicago. 


28  EXCUSE  ME! 

He  could  never  find  ours.  Fact  is.  I  doubt  if  we 
find  him  ourselves." 

Her  clutch  tightened  till  he  would  have  winced,  if 
he  had  not  been  a  soldier. 

"What  do  you  mean,  Harry?" 

"Well,  in  the  first  place,  honey,  look  what  time  it 
is.  Hardly  more  than  time  enough  to  get  the  train. 
to  say  nothing  of  hunting  for  that  preacher  and 
standing  up  through  a  long  rigmarole." 

"Why,  Harry  Mallory,  are  you  getting  ready  to 
jilt  me?" 

"Indeed  I'm  not — not  for  worlds,  honey,  but  I've 
got  to  get  that  train,  haven't  I  ?" 

"Couldn't  you  wait  over  one  train — just  one  tiny 
little  train?" 

"My  own,  own  honey  love,  you  know  it's  impossi- 
ble! You  must  remember  that  I've  already  waited 
over  three  trains  while  you  tried  to  make  up  your 
mind." 

"And  you  must  remember,  darling,  that  it's  no 
easy  matter  for  a  girl  to  decide  to  sneak  away  from 
home  and  be  married  secretly,  and  go  all  the  way  out 
to  that  hideous  Manila  with  no  trousseau  and  no 
wedding  presents  and  no  anything." 

"I  know  it  isn't,  and  I  waited  patiently  while  you 
got  up  the  courage.  But  now  there  are  no  more 
trains.  I  shudder  to  think  of  this  train  being  late. 
We're  not  due  in  San  Francisco  till  Thursday  even- 
ing, and  my  transport  sails  at  sunrise  Friday  morn- 


29 

ing.  Oh,  Lord,  what  if  I  should  miss  that  trans- 
port! What  if  I  should!" 

"What  if  we  should  miss  the  minister?" 

"It  begins  to  look  a  great  deal  like  it." 

"But,  Harry,  you  wouldn't  desert  me  now — aban- 
don me  to  my  fate?" 

"Well,  it  isn't  exactly  like  abandonment,  seeing 
that  you  could  go  home  to  your  father  and  mother  in 
a  taxicab." 

She  stared  at  him  in  horror. 

"So  you  don't  want  me  for  your  wife!  You've 
changed  your  mind!  You're  tired  of  me  already! 
Only  an  hour  together,  and  you're  sick  of  your  bar- 
gain! You're  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me!  You n 

"Oh,  honey,  I  want  you  more  than  anything  else 
on  earth,  but  I'm  a  soldier,  dearie,  a  mere  lieutenant 
in  the  regular  army,  and  I'm  the  slave  of  the  Govern- 
ment. I've  gone  through  West  Point,  and  they  won't 
let  me  resign  respectably  and  if  I  did,  we'd  starve. 
They  wouldn't  accept  my  resignation,  but  they'd  be 
willing  to  courtmartial  me  and  dismiss  me  the 
service  in  disgrace.  Then  you  wouldn't  want  to 
marry  me — and  I  shouldn't  have  any  way  of  sup- 
porting you  if  you  did.  I  only  know  one  trade,  and 
that's  soldiering." 

"Don't  call  it  a  trade,  beloved,  it's  the  noblest 
profession  in  all  the  world,  and  you're  the  noblest 
soldier  that  ever  was,  and  in  a  year  or  two  you'll  be 
the  biggest  general  in  the  army." 


30  EXCUSE  ME! 

He  could  not  afford  to  shatter  such  a  devout  illu- 
sion or  quench  the  light  of  faith  in  those  beloved  and 
loving  eyes.  He  tacitly  admitted  his  ability  to  be 
promoted  commander-in-chief  in  a  year  or  two.  He 
allowed  that  glittering  possibility  to  remain,  used  it 
as  a  basis  for  argument. 

"Then,  dearest,  you  must  help  me  to  do  my  duty." 
She  clasped  his  upper  arm  as  if  it  were  an  altar 
and  she  an  Iphigenia  about  to  be  sacrificed  to  save 
the  army.    And  she  murmured  with  utter  heroism : 
"I  will !    Do  what  you  like  with  me !" 
He  squeezed  her  hand  between  his  biceps  and  his 
ribs  and  accepted  the  offering  in  a  look  drenched 
with  gratitude.    Then  he  said,  matter-of-factly: 

"We'll  see  how  much  time  we  have  when  we  get 
to — whatever  the  name  of  that  street  is." 

The  car  jolted  and  wailed  on  its  way  like  an  old 
drifting  rocking  chair.  The  motorman  was  in  no 
hurry.  The  passengers  seemed  to  have  no  occasion 
for  haste.  Somebody  got  on  or  got  off  at  almost 
every  corner,  and  paused  for  conversation  while 
the  car  waited  patiently.  But  eventually  the  con- 
ductor put  his  head  in  and  drawled: 
"Hay!  here's  where  you  get  off  at." 
They  hastened  to  debark  and  found  themselves 
in  a  narrow,  gaudily-lighted  region  where  they  saw 
a  lordly  transfer-distributor,  a  profound  scholar  in 
Chicago  streets.  He  informed  them  that  the  min- 
ister's street  lay  far  back  along  the  path  they  had 


IN  DARKEST  CHICAGO  3? 

come;  they  should  have  taken  a  car  in  the  opposite 
direction,  transferred  at  some  remote  center,  de- 
scended at  some  unheard-of  street,  walked  three 
blocks  one  way  and  four  another,  and  there  they 
would  have  been. 

Mallory  looked  at  his  watch,  and  Marjorie's 
hopes  dropped  like  a  wrecked  aeroplane,  for  he 
grimly  asked  how  long  it  would  take  them  to  reach 
the  railroad  station. 

"Well,  you'd  ought  to  make  it  in  forty  minutes," 
the  transfer  agent  said — and  added,  cynically,  "if  the 
car  makes  schedule." 

"Good  Lord,  the  train  starts  in  twenty  minutes!" 

"Well,  I  tell  you — take  this  here  green  car  to 
Wexford  Avenoo — there's  usually  a  taxicab  or  two 
standin'  there." 

"Thank  you.    Hop  on,  Marjorie." 

Marjorie  hopped  on,  and  they  sat  down,  Mallory 
with  eyes  and  thoughts  on  nothing  but  the  watch 
he  kept  in  his  hand. 

During  this  tense  journey  the  girl  perfected  her 
souTTor  graceful  martyrdom. 

"I'll  go  to  the  train  with  you,  Harry,  and  then 
you  can  send  me  home  in  a  taxicab." 

Her  nether  lip  trembled  and  her  eyes  were  filmed, 
but  they  were  brave,  and  her  voice  was  so  tender 
that  it  wooed  his  mind  from  his  watch.  He  gazed  at 
her,  and  found  her  so  dear,  so  devoted  and  so  piti- 
fully exquisite,  that  he  was  almost  overcome  by  an 


32  EXCUSE  ME! 

impulse  to  gather  her  into  his  arms  there  and  then, 
indifferent  to  the  immediate  passengers  or  to  his  far- 
off  military  superiors.  An  hour  ago  they  were  young 
lovers  in  all  the  lilt  and  thrill  of  elopement.  She 
had  clung  to  him  in  the  gloaming  of  their  taxicab,  as 
it  sped  like  a  genie  at  their  whim  to  the  place  where 
the  minister  would  unite  their  hands  and  raise  his 
own  in  blessing.  Thence  the  new  husband  would 
have  carried  the  new  wife  away,  his  very  own,  soul 
and  body,  duty  and  beauty.  Then,  ah,  then  in  their 
minds  the  future  was  an  unwaning  honeymoon,  the 
journey  across  the  continent  a  stroll  along  a  lover's 
lane,  the  Pacific  ocean  a  garden  lake,  and  the  Phil- 
ippines a  chain  of  Fortunate  Isles  decreed  especially 
for  their  Eden.  And  then  the  taxicab  encountered 
a  lamppost.  They  thought  they  had  merely  wrecked 
a  motor  car — and  lo,  they  had  wrecked  a  Paradise. 

The  railroad  ceased  to  be  a  lover's  lane  and  be- 
came a  lingering  torment;  the  ocean  was  a  weltering 
Sahara,  and  the  Philippines  a  Dry  Tortugas  of 
exile. 

Mallory  realized  for  the  first  time  what  heavy 
burdens  he  had  taken  on  with  his  shoulder  straps; 
what  a  dismal  life  of  restrictions  and  hardships  an 
officer's  life  is  bound  to  be.  It  was  hard  to  obey 
the  soulless  machinery  of  discipline,  to  be  a  brass- 
buttoned  slave.  He  felt  all  the  hot,  quick  resent- 
ment that  turns  a  faithful  soldier  into  a  deserter. 
But  it  takes  time  to  evolve  a  deserter,  and  Mallory 


IN  DARKEST  CHIC  A  GO  33 

had  only  twenty  minutes.  The  handcuffs  and  leg- 
irons  of  discipline  hobbled  him.  He  was  only  a  little 
cog  in  a  great  clock,  and  the  other  wheels  were  im- 
pinging on  him  and  revolving  in  spite  of  himself. 

In  the  close-packed  seats  where  they  were  jostled 
and  stared  at,  the  soldier  could  not  even  attempt  to 
explain  to  his  fascinated  bride  the  war  of  motives  in 
his  breast.  He  could  not  voice  the  passionate  rebel- 
lion her  beauty  had  whipped  up  in  his  soul.  Perhaps 
if  Romeo  and  Juliet  had  been  forced  to  say  farewell 
on  a  Chicago  street  car  instead  of  a  Veronese  bal- 
cony, their  language  would  have  lacked  savor,  too. 

Perhaps  young  Mr.  Montague  and  young  Miss 
Capulet,  instead  of  wailing,  "No,  that  is  not  the 
lark  whose  notes  do  beat  the  vaulty  heaven  so  high 
above  our  heads,"  would  have  done  no  better  than 
Mr.  Mallory  and  Miss  Newton.  In  any  case,  the 
best  these  two  could  squeeze  out  was: 

"It's  just  too  bad,  honey." 

"But  I  guess  it  can't  be  helped,  dear," 

"It's  a  mean  old  world,  isn't  it?" 

"Awful!" 

And  then  they  must  pile  out  into  the  street  again 
so  lost  in  woe  that  they  did  not  know  how  they  were 
trampled  or  elbowed.  Marjorie's  despair  was  so 
complete  that  it  paralyzed  instinct.  She  forgot 
Snoozleums!  A  thoughtful  passenger  ran  out  and 
tossed  the  basket  into  Mallory's  arms  even  as  the  car 
moved  off. 


34  EXCUSE  ME! 

Fortune  relented  a  moment  and  they  found  a  taxi- 
cab  waiting  where  they  had  expected  to  find  it.  Once 
more  they  were  cosy  in  the  flying  twilight,  but  their 
grief  was  their  only  baggage,  and  the  clasp  of  their 
hands  talked  all  the  talk  there  was. 

Anxiety  within  anxiety  tormented  them  and  they 
feared  another  wreck.  But  as  they  swooped  down 
upon  the  station,  a  kind-faced  tower  clock  beamed 
the  reassurance  that  they  had  three  minutes  to  spare. 

The  taxicab  drew  up  and  halted,  but  they  did  not 
get  out.  They  were  kissing  good-byes,  fervidly  and 
numerously,  while  a  grinning  station-porter  winked  at 
the  winking  chauffeur. 

Marjorie  simply  could  not  have  done  with  fare- 
wells. 

"I'll  go  to  the  gate  with  you,"  she  said. 

He  told  the  chauffeur  to  wait  and  take  the  young 
lady  home.  The  lieutenant  looked  so  honest  and  the 
girl  so  sad  that  the  chauffeur  simply  touched  his  cap, 
though  it  was  not  his  custom  to  allow  strange  fares 
to  vanish  into  crowded  stations,  leaving  behind  noth- 
ing more  negotiable  than  instructions  to  wait. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  MOUSE  AND  A  MOUNTAIN 

ALL  the  while  the  foiled  elopers  were  eloping,  the 
San  Francisco  sleeper  was  filling  up.  It  had  been 
the  receptacle  of  assorted  lots  of  humanity  tumbling 
into  it  from  all  directions,  with  all  sorts  of  souls, 
bodies,  and  destinations. 

The  porter  received  each  with  that  expert  eye  of 
his.  His  car  was  his  laboratory.  A  railroad  journey 
is  a  sort  of  test-tube  of  character;  strange  elements 
meet  under  strange  conditions  and  make  strange  com- 
binations. The  porter  could  never  foresee  the  in- 
gredients of  any  trip,  nor  their  actions  and  reactions. 

He  had  no  sooner  established  Mr.  Wedgewood 
of  London  and  Mr.  Ira  Lathrop  of  Chicago,  in  com- 
parative repose,  than  his  car  was  invaded  by  a  wo- 
man who  flung  herself  into  the  first  seat.  She  was 
flushed  with  running,  and  breathing  hard,  but  she 
managed  one  gasp  of  relief: 

"Thank  goodness,  I  made  it  in  time." 

The  mere  sound  of  a  woman's  voice  in  the  seat 
back  of  him  was  enough  to  disperse  Ira  Lathrop. 
With  not  so  much  as  a  glance  backward  to  see  what 

35 


36  EXCUSE  ME! 

manner  of  woman  it  might  be,  he  jammed  his  con- 
tract into  his  pocket,  seized  his  newspapers  and  re- 
treated to  the  farthest  end  of  the  car,  jouncing  down 
into  berth  number  one,  like  a  sullen  snapping  turtle. 

Miss  Anne  Cattle's  modest  and  homely  valise  had 
been  brought  aboard  by  a  leisurely  station  usher, 
who  set  it  down  and  waited  with  a  speaking  palm 
outstretched.  She  had  her  tickets  in  her  hand,  but 
transferred  them  to  her  teeth  while  she  searched  for 
money  in  a  handbag  old  fashioned  enough  to  be 
called  a  reticule. 

The  usher  closed  his  fist  on  the  pittance  she 
dropped  into  it  and  departed  without  comment.  The 
porter  advanced  on  her  with  a  demand  for  "Tickets, 
please." 

She  began  to  ransack  her  reticule  with  flurried 
haste,  taking  out  of  it  a  small  purse,  opening  that, 
closing  it,  putting  it  back,  taking  it  out,  searching 
the  reticule  through,  turning  out  a  handkerchief,  a 
few  hairpins,  a  few  trunk  keys,  a  baggage  check,  a 
bottle  of  salts,  a  card  or  two  and  numerous  other 
maidenly  articles,  restoring  them  to  place,  looking 
in  the  purse  again,  restoring  that,  closing  the  reti- 
cule, setting  it  down,  shaking  out  a  book  she  carried, 
opening  her  old  valise,  going  through  certain  white 
things  blushingly,  closing  it  again,  shaking  her  skirts, 
and  shaking  her  head  in  bewilderment. 

She  was  about  to  open  the  reticule  again,  when 
the  porter  exclaimed: 


A  MOUSE  AND  A  MOUNTAIN  37 

"I  see  it!    Don't  look  no  mo'.    I  see  it!" 

When  she  cast  up  her  eyes  in  despair,  her  hatbrim 
had  been  elevated  enough  to  disclose  the  where- 
abouts of  the  tickets.  With  a  murmured  apology,  he 
removed  them  from  her  teeth  and  held  them  under 
the  light.  After  a  time  he  said : 

"As  neah  as  I  can  make  out  from  the — the  un- 
digested po'tion  of  this  ticket,  yo'  numba  is  six." 

"That's  it— six!" 

"That's  right  up  this  way." 

"Let  me  sit  here  till  I  get  my  breath,"  she  pleaded, 
"I  ran  so  hard  to  catch  the  train." 

"Well,  you  caught  it  good  and  strong." 

"I'm  so  glad.     How  soon  do  we  start?" 

"In  about  half  a  houah." 

"Really?  Well,  better  half  an  hour  too  soon  than 
half  a  minute  too  late."  She  said  it  with  such  a 
copy-book  primness  that  the  porter  set  her  down  as 
a  school-teacher.  It  was  not  a  bad  guess.  She  was 
a  missionary.  With  a  pupil-like  shyness  he  volun- 
teered: 

"Yo'  berth  is  all  ready  whenever  you  wishes  to 
go  to  baid."  He  caught  her  swift  blush  and 
amended  it  to — "to  retiah." 

"Retire? — before  all  the  car?"  said  Miss  Anne 
Cattle,  with  prim  timidity.  "No,  thank  you!  I  in- 
tend to  sit  up  till  everybody  else  has  retired." 

The  porter  retired.  Miss  Cattle  took  out  a  bit 
of  more  or  less  useful  fancy  stitching  and  set  to 


38  EXCUSE  ME! 

work  like  another  Dorcas.  Her  needle  had  not 
dived  in  and  emerged  many  times  before  she  was 
holding  it  up  as  a  weapon  of  defense  against  a  sud- 
den human  mountain  that  threatened  to  crush  her. 

A  vague  round  face,  huge  and  red  as  a  rising 
moon,  dawned  before  her  eyes  and  from  it  came  an 
uncertain  voice: 

"Esscuzhe  me,  mad'm,  no  'fensh  intended." 

The  words  and  the  breath  that  carried  them  gave 
the  startled  spinster  an  instant  proof  that  her 
vis-a-vis  did  not  share  her  Prohibition  principles  or 
practices.  She  regarded  the  elephant  with  mouse- 
like terror,  and  the  elephant  regarded  the  mouse 
with  elephantine  fright,  '-.hen  he  removed  himself 
from  her  landscape  as  quickly  as  he  could  and 
lurched  along  the  aisle,  calling  out  merrily  to  the 
porter: 

"Chauffeur!  chauffeur!  don't  go  so  fasht  'round 
these  corners." 

He  collided  with  a  small  train-boy  singing  his 
nasal  lay,  but  it  was  the  behemoth  and  not  the  train- 
boy  that  collapsed  into  a  seat,  sprawling  as  help- 
lessly as  a  mammoth  oyster  on  a  table-cloth. 

The  porter  rushed  to  his  aid  and  hoisted  him  to 
his  feet  with  an  uneasy  sense  of  impending  trouble. 
He  felt  as  if  someone  had  left  a  monstrous  baby  on 
his  doorstep,  but  all  he  said  was: 

"Tickets,  please." 

There  ensued  a  long  search,   fat,   flabby  hands 


A  MOUSE  AND  A  MOUNTAIN  39 

flopping  and  fumbling  from  pocket  to  pocket.  Once 
more  the  porter  was  the  discoverer. 

"I  see  it.  Don't  look  no  mo'.  Here  it  is — up  in 
yo'  hatband."  He  lifted  it  out  and  chuckled.  "Had 
it  right  next  his  brains  and  couldn't  rememba !"  He 
took  up  the  appropriately  huge  luggage  of  the  bibu* 
lous  wanderer  and  led  him  to  the  other  end  of  the 
aisle. 

"Numba  two  is  yours,  sah.  Right  heah — all  nice 
and  cosy,  and  already  made  up." 

The  big  man  looked  through  the  curtains  into  the 
cabined  confinement,  and  groaned: 

"That!    Haven't  you  got  a  man's  size  berth?" 

"Sorry,  sah.  That's  as  big  a  bunk  as  they  is  on 
the  train." 

"Have  I  got  to  be  locked  up  in  that  pigeon-hole 
for — for  how  many  days  is  it  to  Reno?" 

"Reno?"  The  porter  greeted  that  meaningful 
name  with  a  smile.  "We're  doo  in  Reno  the — the — 
the  mawnin'  of  the  fo'th  day,  sah.  Yassah."  He 
put  the  baggage  down  and  started  away,  but  the  sad 
fat  man  seized  his  hand,  with  great  emotion : 

"Don't  leave  me  all  alone  in  there,  porter,  for  I'm 
a  broken-hearted  man." 

"Is  that  so?    Too  bad,  sah." 

"Were  you  ever  a  broken-hearted  man,  porter?" 

"Always,  sah." 

"Did  you  ever  put  your  trust  in  a  false-hearted 
woman?" 


40  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Often,  sah." 

"Was  she  ever  true  to  you,  porter?" 

"Never,  sah." 

"Porter,  we  are  partners  in  mis-sis-ery." 

And  he  wrung  the  rough,  black  hand  with  a  sol- 
emnity that  embarrassed  the  porter  almost  as  much 
as  it  would  have  embarrassed  the  passenger  himself 
if  he  could  have  understood  what  he  was  doing.  The 
porter  disengaged  himself  with  a  patient  but  hasty: 

"I'm  afraid  you'll  have  to  'scuse  me.  I  got  to 
he'p  the  other  passengers  on  bode." 

"Don't  let  me  keep  you  from  your  duty.  Duty 

is  the — the "  But  he  could  not  remember  what 

duty  was,  and  he  would  have  dropped  off  to  sleep, 
if  he  had  not  been  startled  by  a  familiar  voice  which 
the  porter  had  luckily  escaped. 

"Pawtah!  Pawtah!  Can't  you  raise  this  light — 
or  rather  can't  you  lower  it?  Pawtah!  This  light 
is  so  infernally  dim  I  can't  read." 

To  the  Englishman's  intense  amazement  his  call 
brought  to  him  not  the  porter,  but  a  rising  moon  with 
the  profound  query: 

"Whass  a  li'l  thing  like  dim  light,  when  the  light 
of  your  life  has  gone  out?" 

"I  beg  your  pardon?" 

Without  further  invitation,  the  mammoth  de- 
scended on  the  Englishman's  territory. 

"I'm  a  broken-hearted  man,  Mr. — Mr. — I  didn't 
get  your  name." 


A  MOUSE  AND  A  MOUNTAIN  41 

"Er — ah — I  dare  say." 

"Thanks,  I  will  sit  down."  He  lifted  a  great 
carry-all  and  airily  tossed  it  into  the  aisle,  set  the 
Gladstone  on  the  lap  of  the  infuriated  Englishman, 
and  squeezed  into  the  seat  opposite,  making  a  sad 
mix-up  of  knees. 

"My  name's  Wellington.  Ever  hear  of  li'l 
Jimmie  Wellington?  That's  me." 

"Any  relation  to  the  Duke?" 

"Nagh!" 

He  no  longer  interested  Mr.  Wedgewood.  But 
Mr.  Wellington  was  not  aware  that  he  was  being 
snubbed.  He  went  right  on  getting  acquainted: 

"Are  you  married,  Mr. — Mr. ?" 

"No!" 

"My  heartfelt  congrashlations.  Hang  on  to  your 
luck,  my  boy.  Don't  let  any  female  take  it  away 
from  you."  He  slapped  the  Englishman  on  the 
elbow  amiably,  and  his  prisoner  was  too  stifled  with 
wrath  to  emit  more  than  one  feeble  "Pawtah!" 

Mr.  Wellington  mused  on  aloud:  "Oh,  if  I  had 
only  remained  shingle.  But  she  was  so  beautiful  and 
she  swore  to  love,  honor  and  obey.  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton is  a  queen  among  women,  mind  you,  and  I  have 
.nothing  to  say  against  her  except  that  she  has  the 
temper  of  a  tarantula."  He  italicized  the  word  with 
a  light  fillip  of  his  left  hand  along  the  back  of  the 
seat.  He  did  not  notice  that  he  filliped  the  angry 
head  of  Mr.  Ira  Lathrop  in  the  next  seat.  He  went 


42  EXCUSE  ME! 

on  with  his  portrait  of  his  wife.  "She  has  the 
'stravaganza  of  a  sultana" — another  fillip  for  Mr. 
Lathrop — "the  zhealousy  of  a  cobra,  the  flirtatious- 
ness  of  a  humming  bird."  Mr.  Lathrop  was  glar- 
ing round  like  a  man-eating  tiger,  but  Wellington 
talked  on.  "She  drinks,  swears,  and  smokes  cigars, 
otherwise  she's  fine — a  queen  among  women." 

Neither  this  amazing  vision  of  womankind,  nor 
this  beautiful  example  of  longing  for  confession 
and  sympathy  awakened  a  response  in  the  Eng- 
lishman's frozen  bosom.  His  only  action  was  an- 
other violent  effort  to  disengage  his  cramped  knees 
from  the  knees  of  his  tormentor;  his  only  comment 
a  vain  and  weakening  cry  for  help,  "Pawtah!  Paw- 
tah!" 

Wellington's  bleary,  teary  eyes  were  lighted  with 
triumph.  "Finally  I  saw  I  couldn't  stand  it  any 
longer  so  I  bought  a  tic-hic-et  to  Reno.  I  'stablish 
a  residensh  in  six  monfths — get  a  divorce — no 
shcandal.  Even  m'own  wife  won't  know  anything 
about  it." 

The  Englishman  was  almost  attracted  by  this  as- 
tounding picture  of  the  divorce  laws  in  America.  It 
sounded  so  barbarically  quaint  that  he  leaned  for- 
ward to  hear  more,  but  Mr.  Wellington's  hand,  like 
a  mischievous  runaway,  had  wandered  back  into  the 
shaggy  locks  atop  of  Mr.  Lathrop.  His  right  hand 
did  not  let  his  left  know  what  it  was  doing,  but 


A  MOUSE  AND  A  MOUNTAIN  43 

proceeded  quite  independently  to  grip  as  much  of 
Lathrop's  hair  as  it  would  hold. 

Then  as  Mr.  Wellington  shook  with  joy  at  the 
prospect  of  "Dear  old  Reno!"  he  began  uncon- 
sciously to  draw  Ira  Lathrop's  head  after  his  hair 
across  the  seat.  The  pain  of  it  shot  the  tears  into 
Lathrop's  eyes,  and  as  he  writhed  and  twisted  he 
was  too  full  of  profanity  to  get  any  one  word  out. 

When  he  managed  to  wrench  his  skull  free,  he 
was  ready  to  murder  his  tormentor.  But  as  soon 
as  he  confronted  the  doddering  and  blinking  toper, 
he  was  helpless.  Drunken  men  have  always  been 
treated  with  great  tenderness  in  America,  and  when 
Wellington,  seeing  Lathrop's  white  hair,  exclaimed 
with  rapture:  "Why,  hello,  Pop!  here's  Pop!"  the 
most  that  Lathrop  could  do  was  to  tear  loose  those 
fat,  groping  hands,  slap  them  like  a  school  teacher, 
and  push  the  man  away. 

But  that  one  shove  upset  Mr.  Wellington  and  sent 
him  toppling  down  upon  the  pit  of  the  Englishman's 
stomach. 

For  Wedgewood,  it  was  suddenly  as  if  all  the  air 
had  been  removed  from  the  world.  He  gulped  like 
a  fish  drowning  for  lack  of  water.  He  was  a  long 
while  getting  breath  enough  for  words,  but  his  first 
words  were  wild  demands  that  Mr.  Wellington  re- 
move himself  forthwith. 

Wellington  accepted  the  banishment  with  the  sor- 


44  EXCUSE  ME! 

rowful  eyes  of  a  dying  deer,   and  tottered  away 
wagging  his  fat  head  and  wailing: 

"I'm  a  broken-hearted  man,  and  nobody  gives 
a  -  ."  At  this  point  he  caromed  over  into  Ira 
Lathrop's  berth  and  was  welcomed  with  a  savage 
roar: 

"What  the  devil's  the  matter  with  you?" 
"I'm  a  broken-hearted  man,  that's  all." 
"Oh,  is  that  all,"  Lathrop  snapped,  vanishing  be- 
hind his  newspaper.     The  desperately  melancholy 
seeker  for  a  word  of  human  kindness  bleared  at  the 
blurred  newspaper  wall  a  while,  then  waded  into  a 
new  attempt  at  acquaintance.     Laying  his  hand  on 
Lathrop's  knee,  he  stammered:  "Esscuzhe  me,  Mr. 


From  behind  the  newspaper  came  a  stingy  answer: 
"Lathrop's  my  name  —  if  you  want  to  know." 

"Pleased  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Lothrop." 

"Lathrop!" 

"Lathrop!  My  name's  Wellington.  LP1  Jimmie 
Wellington.  Ever  hear  of  me  ?" 

He  waited  with  the  genial  smile  of  a  famous  man; 
the  smile  froze  at  Lathrop's  curt,  "Don't  think  so." 

He  tried  again:  "Ever  hear  of  well-known  Chi- 
cago belle,  Mrs.  Jimmie  Wellington?" 

"Yes,  I've  heard  of  her!"  There  was  an  omi- 
nous grin  in  the  tone. 

Wellington  waved  his  hand  with  modest  pride. 
"Well,  I'm  Jimmie." 


A  MOUSE  AND  A  MOUNTAIN  45 

"Serves  you  right." 

This  jolt  was  so  discourteous  that  Wellington  de- 
cided to  protest:  "Mister  Latham!" 

"Lathrop!" 

The  name  came  out  with  a  whip-snap.  He  tried 
to  echo  it,  "La-//zrop/"  "I  don't  like  that  Throp. 
That's  a  kind  of  a  seasick  name,  isn't  it?"  Finding 
the  newspaper  still  intervening  between  him  and  his 
prey,  he  calmly  tore  it  down  the  middle  and  pushed 
through  it  like  a  moon  coming  through  a  cloud.  "But 
a  man  can't  change  his  name  by  marrying,  can  he? 
That's  the  worst  of  it.  A  woman  can.  Think  of  a 
heartless  cobra  di  capello  in  woman's  form  wearing 
my  fair  name — and  wearing  it  out.  Mr.  La-throp, 
did  you  ever  put  your  trust  in  a  false-hearted  wo- 
man?" 

"Never  put  my  trust  in  anybody." 

"Didn't  you  ever  love  a  woman?" 

"No!" 

"Well,  then,  didn't  you  ever  marry  a  woman?" 

"Not  one.  I've  had  the  measles  and  the  mumps, 
but  I've  never  had  matrimony." 

"Oh,  lucky  man,"  beamed  Wellington.  "Hang 
on  to  your  luck." 

"I  intend  to,"  said  Lathrop,  "I  was  born  single 
and  I  like  it." 

"Oh,  how  I  envy  you!  You  see,  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton— she's  a  queen  among  women,  mind  you — a 


46  EXCUSE  ME! 

queen  among  women,  but  she  has  the  'stravagance 
of  a " 

Lathrop  had  endured  all  he  could  endure,  even 
from  a  privileged  character  like  little  Jimmy  Wel- 
lington. He  rose  to  take  refuge  in  the  smoking- 
room.  But  the  very  vigor  of  this  departure  only 
served  to  help  Wellington  to  his  feet,  for  he  seized 
Lathrop's  coat  and  hung  on,  through  the  door,  down 
the  little  corridor,  always  explaining: 

"Mrs.  Wellington  is  a  queen  among  women,  mind 
you,  but  I  can't  stand  her  temper  any  longer." 

He  had  hardly  squeezed  into  the  smoking-room 
when  the  porter  and  an  usher  almost  invisible  under 
the  baggage  they  carried  brought  in  a  new  passen- 
ger. Her  first  question  was : 

"Oh,  porter,  did  a  box  of  flowers,  or  candy,  or 
anything,  come  for  me?" 

"What  name  would  they  be  in,  miss?" 

"Mrs.  Wellington — Mrs.  James  Wellington." 


CHAPTER  V 

A  QUEEN  AMONG  WOMEN 

Miss  ANNE  CATTLE,  seated  in  Mrs.  Jimmie  Wel- 
lington's seat,  had  not  heard  Mr.  Jimmie  Welling- 
ton's sketch  of  his  wife.  But  she  needed  hardly 
more  than  a  glance  to  satisfy  herself  that  she  and 
Mrs.  Jimmie  were  as  hopelessly  antipathetic  as  only 
two  polite  women  can  be. 

Mrs.  Jimmie  was  accounted  something  of  a  snob 
in  Chicago  society,  but  perhaps  the  missionary  was 
a  trifle  the  snobbisher  of  the  two  when  they  met. 

Miss  Gattle  could  overlook  a  hundred  vices  in  a 
Zulu  queen  more  easily  than  a  few  in  a  fellow  coun- 
trywoman. She  did  not  like  Mrs.  Jimmie,  and  she 
was  proud  of  it. 

When  the  porter  said,  "I'm  afraid  you  got  this 
lady's  seat,"  Miss  Gattle  shot  one  glance  at  the  in- 
truder and  rose  stiffly.  "Then  I  suppose  I'll  have 

"Oh,  please  don't  go,  there's  plenty  of  room," 
Mrs.  Wellington  insisted,  pressing  her  to  remain. 
This  nettled  Miss  Gattle  still  more,  but  she  sank 
back,  while  the  porter  piled  up  expensive  traveling- 

47 


48  EXCUSE  ME! 

bags  and  hat  boxes  till  there  was  hardly  a  place  to 
sit.  But  even  at  that  Mrs.  Jimmie  felt  called  on  to 
apologize : 

"I  haven't  brought  much  luggage.  How  I'll  ever 
live  four  days  with  this,  I  can't  imagine.  It  will 
be  such  a  relief  to  get  my  trunks  at  Reno." 

"Reno?"  echoed  Miss  Cattle.  "Do  you  live 
there?" 

"Well,  theoretically,  yes." 

"I  don't  understand  you." 

"I've  got  to  live  there  to  get  it." 

"To  get  it?  Oh!"  A  look  of  sudden  and  dread- 
ful realization  came  over  the  missionary.  Mrs. 
Wellington  interpreted  it  with  a  smile  of  gay  defi- 
ance: 

"Do  you  believe  in  divorces?" 

Anne  Cattle  stuck  to  her  guns.  "I  must  say  I 
don't.  I  think  a  law  ought  to  be  passed  stopping 
them." 

"So  do  I,"  Mrs.  Wellington  amiably  agreed,  "and 
I  hope  they'll  pass  just  such  a  law — after  I  get 
mine."  Then  she  ventured  a  little  shaft  of  her  own. 
"You  don't  believe  in  divorces.  I  judge  you've  never 
been  married." 

"Not  once!"  The  spinster  drew  herself  up,  but 
Mrs.  Wellington  disarmed  her  with  an  unexpected 
bouquet: 

"Oh,  lucky  woman!  Don't  let  any  heartless  man 
delude  you  into  taking  the  fatal  step." 


A  QUEEN  AMONG  WOMEN  49 

Anne  Cattle  was  nothing  if  not  honest.  She  con- 
fessed frankly:  "I  must  say  that  nobody  has  made 
any  violent  efforts  to  compel  me  to.  That's  why 
I'm  going  to  China." 

"To  China!"  Mrs.  Wellington  gasped,  hardly 
believing  her  ears.  "My  dear!  You  don't  intend 
to  marry  a  laundryman?" 

"The  idea !     I'm  going  as  a  missionary." 

"A  missionary?  Why  leave  Chicago?"  Mrs. 
Wellington's  eye  softened  more  or  less  convincingly: 
"Oh,  lovely!  How  I  should  dote  upon  being  a  mis- 
sionary. I  really  think  that  after  I  get  my  divorce 
I  might  have  a  try  at  it.  I  had  thought  of  a  convent, 
but  being  a  missionary  must  be  much  more  exciting." 
She  dismissed  the  dream  with  an  abrupt  shake  of 
the  head.  "Excuse  me,  but  do  you  happen  to  have 
any  matches?" 

"Matches !    I  never  carry  them !" 

"They  never  have  matches  in  the  women's  room, 
and  I've  used  my  last  one." 

Miss  Gattle  took  another  reef  in  her  tight  lips. 
"Do  you  smoke  cigarettes?" 

Mrs.  Wellington's  echoed  disgust  with  disgust: 
"Oh,  no,  indeed.  I  loathe  them.  I  have  the  most 
dainty  little  cigars.  Did  you  ever  try  one?" 

Miss  Gattle  stiffened  into  one  exclamation  point: 
"Cigars!  Me!" 

Mrs.  Jimmie  was  so  well  used  to  being  disap- 
proved of  that  it  never  disturbed  her.  She  went  on 


50  EXCUSE  ME! 

as  if  the  face  opposite  were  not  alive  with  horror: 
"I  should  think  that  cigars  might  be  a  great  con- 
solation to  a  lady  missionary  in  the  long  lone  hours 
of — what  do  missionaries  do  when  they're  not  mis- 
sionarying?" 

"That  depends." 

There  was  something  almost  spiritual  in  Mrs. 
Jimmie's  beatific  look:  "I  can't  tell  you  what  con- 
solation my  cigars  have  given  me  in  my  troubles. 
Mr.  Wellington  objected — but  then  Mr.  Wellington 
objected  to  nearly  everything  I  did.  That's  why  I 
am  forced  to  this  dreadful  step." 

"Cigars?" 

"Divorces." 

"Divorces!" 

"Well,  this  \>'ll  be  only  my  second — my  other  was 
such  a  nuisance.  I  got  that  from  Jimmie,  too.  But 
it  didn't  take.  Then  we  made  up  and  remarried. 
Rather  odd,  having  a  second  honeymoon  with  one's 
first  husband.  But  remarriage  didn't  succeed  any 
better.  Jimmie  fell  off  the  water-wagon  with  an 
awful  splash,  and  he  quite  misunderstood  my  purely 
platonic  interest  in  Sammy  Whitcomb,  a  nice  young 
fellow  with  a  fool  of  a  wife.  Did  you  ever  meet 
Mrs.  Sammy  Whitcomb — no?  Oh,  but  you  are  a 
lucky  woman !  Indeed  you  are !  Well,  when  Jimmie 
got  jealous,  I  just  gave  him  up  entirely.  I'm  run- 
ning away  to  Reno.  I  sent  a  note  to  my  husband's 
club,  saying  that  I  had  gone  to  Europe,  and  he 


A  QUEEN  AMONG  WOMEN  51 

needn't  try  to  find  me.  Poor  fellow,  he  will.  He'll 
hunt  the  continent  high  and  low  for  me,  but  all  the 
while  I'll  be  in  Nevada.  Rather  good  joke  on  little 
Jimmie,  eh?" 

"Excruciating!" 

"But  now  I  must  go.  Now  I  must  go.  I've  really 
become  quite  addicted  to  them." 

"Divorces?" 

"Cigars.  Do  stay  here  till  I  come  back.  I  have 
so  much  to  say  to  you." 

Miss  Cattle  shook  her  head  in  despair.  She  could 
understand  a  dozen  heathen  dialects  better  than  the 
speech  of  so  utter  a  foreigner  as  her  fellow-coun- 
trywoman. Mrs.  Jimmie  hastened  away,  rather 
pleased  at  the  shocks  she  had  administered.  She 
enjoyed  her  own  electricity. 

In  the  corridor  she  administered  another  thrill — 
this  time  to  a  tall  young  man — a  stranger,  as  alert 
for  flirtation  as  a  weasel  for  mischief.  He  huddled 
himself  and  his  suitcases  into  as  flat  a  space  as  pos- 
sible, murmuring: 

"These  corridors  are  so  narrow,  aren't  they?" 

"Aren't  they?"  said  Mrs.  Jimmie.  "So  sorry 
to  trouble  you." 

"Don't  mention  it." 

She  passed  on,  their  glances  fencing  like  playful 
foils.  Then  she  paused: 

"Excuse  me.  Could  you  lend  me  a  match?  They 
never  have  matches  in  the  Women's  Room." 


52  EXCUSE  ME! 

He  succeeded  in  producing  a  box  after  much  shift- 
ing of  burdens,  and  he  was  rewarded  with  a  look 
and  a  phrase : 

'"'You  have  saved  my  life." 

He  started  to  repeat  his  "Don't  mention  it,"  but 
it  seemed  inappropriate,  so  he  said  nothing,  and  she 
vanished  behind  a  door.  He  turned  away,  saying  to 
himself  that  it  promised  to  be  a  pleasant  journey. 
He  was  halted  by  another  voice — another  woman's 
voice : 

"Pardon  me,  but  is  this  the  car  for  Reno?" 

He  turned  to  smile,  "I  believe  so!"  Then  his 
eyes  widened  as  he  recognized  the  speaker. 

"Mrs.  Sammy  Whitcomb!" 

It  promised  to  be  a  curious  journey. 


CHAPTER  VI 

A  CONSPIRACY  IN  SATIN 

THE  tall  man  emptied  one  hand  of  its  suitcase  to 
clasp  the  hand  the  newcomer  granted  him.  He  held 
it  fast  as  he  exclaimed:  "Don't  tell  me  that  you 
are  bound  for  Reno  !"  She  whimpered :  "I'm  afraid 
so,  Mr.  Ashton." 

He  put  down  everything  to  take  her  other  hand, 
and  tuned  his  voice  to  condolence :  "Why,  I  thought 
you  and  Sam  Whitcomb  were " 

"Oh,  we  were  until  that  shameless  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton  " 

"Mrs.  Wellington?    Don't  believe  I  know  her." 

"I  thought  everybody  had  heard  of  Mrs.  Jimmie 
Wellington." 

"Mrs.  Jimmie — oh,  yes,  I've  heard  of  her!" 
Everybody  seemed  to  have  heard  of  Mrs.  Jimmie 
Wellington. 

"What  a  dance  she  has  led  her  poor  husband!" 
Mrs.  Whitcomb  said.  "And  my  poor  Sammy  fell 
into  her  trap,  too." 

Ashton,  zealous  comforter,  took  a  wrathful  tone : 
"I  always  thought  your  husband  was  the  most  un- 
mitigated  "  But  Mrs.  Whitcomb  bridled  at 

53 


54=  EXCUSE  ME! 

once.  "How  dare  you  criticize  Sammy!  He's  the 
nicest  boy  in  the  world." 

Ashton  recovered  quickly.  "That's  what  I  started 
to  say.  Will  he  contest  the — divorce  ?" 

"Of  course  not,"  she  beamed.  "The  dear  fellow 
would  never  deny  me  anything.  Sammy  offered  to 
get  it  himself,  but  I  told  him  he'd  better  stay  in  Chi- 
cago and  stick  to  business.  I  shall  need  such  a  lot 
of  alimony." 

"Too  bad  he  couldn't  have  come  along,"  Ashton 
insinuated. 

But  the  irony  was  wasted,  for  she  sighed:  "Yes, 
I  shall  miss  him  terribly.  But  we  feared  that  if 
he  were  with  me  it  might  hamper  me  in  getting 
a  divorce  on  the  ground  of  desertion." 

She  was  trying  to  look  earnest  and  thoughtful 
and  heartbroken,  but  the  result  was  hardly  plausible, 
for  Mrs.  Sammy  Whitcomb  could  not  possibly  have 
been  really  earnest  or  really  thoughtful;  and  her 
heart  was  quite  too  elastic  to  break.  She  proved 
it  instantly,  for  when  she  heard  behind  her  the 
voice  of  a  young  man  asking  her  to  let  him  pass, 
she  turned  to  protest,  but  seeing  that  he  was  a 
handsome  young  man,  her  starch  was  instantly 
changed  to  sugar.  And  she  rewarded  his  good  looks 
with  a  smile,  as  he  rewarded  hers  with  another. 

Then  Ashton  intervened  like  a  dog  in  the  manger 
and  dragged  her  off  to  her  seat,  leaving  the  young 
man  to  exclaim: 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN  SATIN  55 

"Some  tamarind,  that!" 

Another  young  man  behind  him  growled:  "Cut 
out  the  tamarinds  and  get  to  business.  Mallory 
will  be  here  any  minute." 

"I  hate  to  think  what  he'll  do  to  us  when  he 
sees  what  we've  done  to  him." 

"Oh,  he  won't  dare  to  fight  in  the  presence  of 
his  little  bridey-widey.  Do  you  see  the  porter  in 
there?" 

"Yes,  suppose  he  objects." 

"Well,  we  have  the  tickets.  We'll  claim  it's  our 
section  till  Mallory  and  Mrs.  Mallory  come." 

They  moved  on  into  the  car,  where  the  porter 
confronted  them.  When  he  saw  that  they  were 
loaded  with  bundles  of  all  shapes  and  sizes,  he 
waved  them  away  with  scorn : 

"The  emigrant  sleepa  runs  only  Toosdays  and 
Thuzzdays." 

From  behind  the  first  mass  of  packages  came  a 
brisk  military  answer: 

"You  black  hound!  About  face — forward 
march!  Section  number  one." 

The  porter  retreated  down  the  aisle,  apologiz- 
ing glibly.     "  'Scuse  me   for  questionin'  you,   but 
you-all's  baggage  looked  kind  o'  eccentric  at  first.'* 
The  two  young  men  dumped  their  parcels  on 
the  seats  and  began  to  unwrap  them  hastily. 

"If  Mallory  catches  us,  he'll  kill  us,"  said  Lieu- 
tenant Shaw.  Lieutenant  Hudson  only  laughed 


'56  EXCUSE  ME! 

and  drew  out  a  long  streamer  of  white  satin  ribbon. 
Its  glimmer,  and  the  glimmering  eyes  of  the  young 
man  excited  Mrs.  Whitcomb  so  much  that  after  a 
little  hesitance  she  moved  forward,  followed  by  the 
jealous  Ashton. 

"Oh,  what's  up?"  she  ventured.  "It  looks  like 
something  bridal." 

"Talk  about  womanly  intuition!"  said  Lieutenant 
Hudson,  with  an  ingratiating  salaam. 

And  then  they  explained  to  her  that  their  class- 
mate at  West  Point,  being  ordered  suddenly  to  the 
Philippines,  had  arranged  to  elope  with  his  beloved 
Marjorie  Newton;  had  asked  them  to  get  the 
tickets  and  check  the  baggage  while  he  stopped  at 
i  minister's  to  "get  spliced  and  hike  for  Manila  by 
this  train." 

Having  recounted  this  plan  in  the  full  belief  that 
it  was  even  at  that  moment  being  carried  out  suc- 
cessfully, Lieutenant  Hudson,  with  a  ghoulish  smile, 
explained : 

"Being  old  friends  of  the  bride  and  groom,  we 
want  to  fix  their  section  up  in  style  and  make  them 
truly  comfortable." 

"Delicious!"  gushed  Mrs.  Whitcomb.  "But  you 
ought  to  have  some  rice  and  old  shoes." 

"Here's  the  rice,"  said  Hudson. 

"Here's  the  old  shoes,"  said  Shaw. 

"Lovely!"  cried  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  but  then  she 
grew  soberer.  "I  should  think,  though,  that  they 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN  SATIN  57 

— the  young  couple — would  have  preferred  a  state- 
room." 

"Of  course,"  said  Hudson,  almost  blushing, 
"but  it  was  taken.  This  was  the  best  we  could  do 
for  them." 

"That's  why  we  want  to  make  it  nice  and  bride- 
like,"  said  Shaw.  "Perhaps  you  could  help  us — a 
woman's  touch " 

"Oh,  I'd  love  to,"  she  glowed,  hastening  into 
the  section  among  the  young  men  and  the  bundles. 
The  unusual  stir  attracted  the  porter's  suspicions. 
He  came  forward  with  a  look  of  authority: 

"  'Scuse  me,  but  wha — what's  all  this?" 

"Vanish — get  out,"  said  Hudson,  poking  a  coin 
at  him.  As  he  turned  to  obey,  Mrs.  Whitcomb 
checked  him  with:  "Oh,  Porter,  could  you  get  us 
a  hammer  and  some  nails?" 

The  porter  almost  blanched:  "Good  Lawd,  Miss, 
you  ain't  allowin'  to  drive  nails  in  that  woodwork, 
is  you?"  That  woodwork  was  to  him  what  the 
altar  is  to  the  priest. 

But  Hudson,  resorting  to  heroic  measures,  hyp- 
notized him  with  a  two-dollar  bill :  "Here,  take  this 
and  see  nothing,  hear  nothing,  say  nothing."  The 
porter  caressed  it  and  chuckled:  "I'm  blind,  deaf 
and  speechless."  He  turned  away,  only  to  come 
back  at  once  with  a  timid  "  'Scuse  me!" 

"You  here  yet?"  growled  Hudson. 

Anxiously  the  porter  pleaded:     "I  just  want  to 


58  EXCUSE  ME! 

ast  one  question.  Is  you  all  fixin'  up  for  a  bridal 
couple?" 

"Foolish  question,  number  eight  million,  forty- 
three,"  said  Shaw.  "Answer,  no,  we  are." 

The  porter's  face  glistened  like  fresh  stove  polish 
as  he  gloated  over  the  prospect.  "I  tell  you,  it'll  be 
mahty  refreshin'  to  have  a  bridal  couple  on  bode ! 
This  dog-on  old  Reno  train  don't  carry  nothin'  much 
but  divorcees.  I'm  just  nachally  hongry  for  a  bridal 
couple." 

"Brile  coup-hic-le ?"  came  a  voice,  like  an  echo 
that  had  somehow  become  intoxicated  in  transit. 
It  was  Little  Jimmie  Wellington  looking  for  more 
sympathy.  "Whass  zis  about  brile  couple?" 

"Why,  here's  Little  Buttercup!"  sang  out  young 
Hudson,  looking  at  him  in  amazed  amusement. 

"Did  I  un'stan'  somebody  say  you're  preparing 
for  a  brile  coupl'  ?" 

Lieutenant  Shaw  grinned.  "I  don't  know  what 
you  understood,  but  that's  what  we're  doing." 

Immediately  Wellington's  great  face  began  to 
churn  and  work  like  a  big  eddy  in  a  river.  Suddenly 
he  was  weeping.  "Excuse  these  tears,  zhentlemen, 
but  I  was  once — I  was  once  a  b-b-bride  myself." 

"He  looks  like  a  whole  wedding  party,"  was  Ash- 
ton's  only  comment  on  the  copious  grief.  It  was 
poor  Wellington's  fate  to  hunt  as  vainly  for  sym- 
pathy as  Diogenes  for  honesty.  The  decorators 
either  ignored  him  or  shunted  him  aside.  They 


A  CONSPIRACY  IN  SATIN  59 

were  interested  in  a  strange  contrivance  of  ribbons 
and  a  box  that  Shaw  produced. 

"That,"  Hudson  explained,  "is  a  little  rice  trap. 
We  hang  that  up  there  and  when  the  bridal  couple 
sit  down — biff !  a  shower  of  rice  all  over  them.  It's 
bad,  eh?" 

Everybody  agreed  that  it  was  a  happy  thought 
and  even  Jimmie  Wellington,  like  a  great  babyt 
bounding  from  tears  to  laughter  on  the  instant, 
was  chortling:  "A  rishe  trap?  That's  abslootly 
splendid — greates'  invensh'  modern  times.  I  must 
stick  around  and  see  her  when  she  flops."  And 
then  he  lurched  forward  like  a  too-obliging  elephant. 
"Let  me  help  you." 

Mrs.  Whitcomb,  who  had  now  mounted  a  step 
ladder  and  poised  herself  as  gracefully  as  possible, 
shrieked  with  alarm,  as  she  saw  Wellington's  bulk 
rolling  toward  her  frail  support. 

If  Hudson  and  Shaw  had  not  been  football  vet- 
erans at  West  Point  and  had  not  known  just  what 
to  do  when  the  center  rush  comes  bucking  the  line, 
they  could  never  have  blocked  that  flying  wedge. 
But  they  checked  him  and  impelled  him  backward 
through  his  own  curtains  into  his  own  berth. 

Finding  himself  on  his  back,  he  decided  to  remain 
there.  And  there  he  remained,  oblivious  of  the  car- 
nival preparations  going  on  just  outside  his  canopy. 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  MASKED  MINISTER 

BEI1S3  an  angel  must  have  this  great  advantage 
at  least,  that  one  may  sit  in  the  grandstand  over- 
looking the  earth  and  enjoy  the  ludicrous  blunders 
of  that  great  blind  man's  buff  we  call  life. 

This  night,  if  any  angels  were  watching  Chi- 
cago, the  Mallory  mix-up  must  have  given  them  a 
good  laugh,  or  a  good  cry — according  to  their  na- 
tures. 

Here  were  Mallory  and  Marjorie,  still  merely 
engaged,  bitterly  regretting  their  inability  to  get 
married  and  to  continue  their  journey  together. 
There  in  the  car  were  the  giggling  conspirators 
preparing  a  bridal  mockery  for  their  sweet  confu- 
sion. 

Then  the  angels  might  have  nudged  one  another 
and  said: 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  now.  There  goes  a  minister 
hurrying  to  their  very  car.  Mallory  has  the  license 
in  his  pocket,  and  here  comes  the  parson.  Hoo- 
ray!" 

And  then  the  angelic  cheer  must  have  died  out 

60 


THE  MASKED  MINISTER  61 

as  the  one  great  hurrah  of  a  crowded  ball-ground 
is  quenched  in  air  when  the  home  team's  vitally 
needed  home  run  swerves  outside  the  line  and  drops 
useless  as  a  stupid  foul  ball. 

In  a  shabby  old  hack,  were  two  of  the  happiest 
runaways  that  ever  sought  a  train.  They  were  not 
miserable  like  the  young  couple  in  the  taxicab. 
They  were  w'hite-haired  both.  They  had  baen  mar- 
ried for  thirty  years.  Yet  this  was  their  real  honey- 
moon, their  real  elopement. 

The  little  woman  in  the  timid  gray  bonnet  clapped 
her  hands  and  tittered  like  a  schoolgirl. 

"Oh,  Walter,  I  can't  believe  we're  really  going 
to  leave  Ypsilanti  for  a  while.  Oh,  but  you've 
earned  it  after  thirty  years  of  being  a  preacher." 

"Hush.  Don't  let  me  hear  you  say  the  awful 
word,"  said  the  little  old  man  in  the  little  black  hat 
and  the  close-fitting  black  bib.  "I'm  so  tired  of  it, 
Sally,  I  don't  want  anybody  on  the  train  to  know  it." 

"They  can't  help  guessing  it,  with  your  collar 
buttoned  behind." 

And  then  the  amazing  minister  actually  dared  to 
say,  "Here's  where  I  change  it  around."  What's 
more,  he  actually  did  it.  Actually  took  off  his  collar 
and  buttoned  it  to  the  front.  The  old  carriage 
seemed  almost  to  rock  with  the  earthquake  of  the 
deed. 

"Why,  Walter  Temple!"  his  wife  exclaimed. 
"What  would  they  say  in  Ypsilanti  ?" 


62  EXCUSE  ME! 

"They'll  never  know,"  he  answered,  defiantly. 

"But  your  bib?"  she  said. 

"I've  thought  of  that,  too,"  he  cried,  as  he 
whipped  it  off  and  stuffed  it  into  a  handbag.  "Look, 
what  I've  bought."  And  he  dangled  before  her 
startled  eyes  a  long  affair  which  the  sudden  light 
from  a  passing  lamppost  revealed  to  be  nothing  less 
than  a  flaring  red  tie. 

The  little  old  lady  touched  it  to  make  sure  she 
was  not  dreaming  it.  Then,  omitting  further  parley 
with  fate,  she  snatched  it  away,  put  it  round  his 
neck,  and,  since  her  arms  were  embracing  him,  kissed 
him  twice  before  she  knotted  the  ribbon  into  a  flam- 
ing bow.  She  sat  back  and  regarded  the  vision  a 
moment,  then  flun^  her  arms  around  him  and 
hugged  him  till  he  gasped: 

"Watch  out — vatch  out.    Don't  crush  my  cigars." 

"Cigars!    Cigars!"  she  echoed,  in  a  daze. 

And  then  the  astounding  husband  produced  them 
in  proof. 

"Genuine  Lillian  Russells — five  cents  straight." 

"But  I  never  saw  you  smoke." 

"Haven't  taken  a  puff  since  I  was  a  young  fellow," 
he  grinned,  wagging  his  head.  "But  now  it's  my 
vacation,  and  I'm  going  to  smoke  up." 

She  squeezed  his  hand  with  an  earlier  ardor: 
"Now  you're  the  old  Walter  Temple  I  used  to 
know." 

"Sally,"  he  said,  "I've  been  traveling  through 


"NO\V    IT'S    MY   VACATION,   AND   I'M   GOING  TO   SMOKE    UP" 


THE  MASKED  MINISTER  63 

life  on  a  half-fare  ticket.  Now  I'm  going  to  have 
my  little  fling.  And  you  brace  up,  too,  and  be  the: 
old  mischievous  Sally  I  used  to  know.  Aren't  you 
glad  to  be  away  from  those  sewing  circles  and  gos- 
sip-bees, and " 

"Ugh!  Don't  ever  mention  them,"  she  shud- 
dered. Then  she,  too,  felt  a  tinge  of  recurring; 
springtide.  "If  you  start  to  smoking,  I  think  I'll 
take  up  flirting  once  more." 

He  pinched  her  cheek  and  laughed.  "As  the 
saying  is,  go  as  far  as  you  desire  and  I'll  leave  the 
coast  clear." 

He  kept  his  promise,  too,  for  they  were  no  sooner 
on  the  train  and  snugly  bestowed  in  section  five,  than 
he  was  up  and  off. 

"Where  are  you  going?"  she  asked. 

"To  the  smoking-room,"  he  swaggered,  brandish- 
ing a  dangerous  looking  cigar. 

"Oh,  Walter,"  she  snickered,  "I  feel  like  a  young 
runaway." 

"You  look  like  one.  Be  careful  not  to  let  any- 
body know  that  you're  a" — he  lowered  his  voice — 
"an  old  preacher's  wife." 

"I'm  as  ashamed  of  it  as  you  are,"  she  whispered. 
Then  he  threw  her  a  kiss  and  a  wink.  She  threw 
him  a  kiss  and  winked,  too.  And  he  went  along 
the  aisle  eyeing  his  cigar  gloatingly.  As  he  entered 
the  smoking-room,  lighted  the  weed  and  blew  out  a 
great  puff  with  a  sigh  of  rapture,  who  could  have 


64  EXCUSE  ME! 

taken  him,  with  his  feet  cocked  up,  and  his  red  tie 
rakishly  askew,  for  a  minister? 

And  Sally  herself  was  busy  disguising  herself, 
loosening  up  her  hair  coquettishly,  smiling  the  prim- 
ness out  of  the  set  corners  of  her  mouth  and  even — 
let  the  truth  be  told  at  all  costs — even  passing  a 
pink-powdered  puff  over  her  pale  cheeks  with  guilty 
surreptition. 

Thus  arrayed  she  was  soon  joining  the  conspira- 
tors bedecking  the  bower  for  the  expected  bride  and 
groom.  She  was  the  youngest  and  most  mischievous 
of  the  lot.  She  felt  herself  a  bride  again,  and  vowed 
to  protect  this  timid  little  wife  to  come  from  too 
much  hilarity  at  the  hands  of  the  conspirators. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  MIXED  PICKLE 

MRS.  WHITCOMB  had  almost  blushed  when  she 
had  murmured  to  Lieutenant  Hudson: 

"I  should  think  the  young  couple  would  have  pre- 
ferred a  stateroom." 

And  Mr.  Hudson  had  flinched  a  little  as  he  ex- 
plained: 

"Yes,  of  course.  We  tried  to  get  it,  but  it  was 
gone." 

It  was  during  the  excitement  over  the  decoration 
of  the  bridal  section,  that  the  stateroom-tenants 
slipped  in  unobserved. 

First  came  a  fluttering  woman  whose  youthful 
beauty  had  a  certain  hue  of  experience,  saddening 
and  wisering.  The  porter  brought  her  in  from  the 
station-platform,  led  her  to  the  stateroom's  concave 
door  and  passed  in  with  her  luggage.  But  she  lin- 
gered without,  a  Peri  at  the  gate  of  Paradise. 
When  the  porter  returned  to  bow  her  in,  she  shiv- 
ered and  hesitated,  and  then  demanded: 

"Oh,  Porter,  are  you  sure  there's  nobody  else 
in  there?" 

The  porter  chuckled,  but  humored  her  panic. 

65 


-66  EXCUSE  ME! 

"I  ain't  seen  nobody.  Shall  I  look  under  the 
seat?" 

To  his  dismay,  she  nodded  her  head  violently. 
He  rolled  his  eyes  in  wonderment,  but  returned  to 
the  stateroom,  made  a  pretense  of  examination,  and 
came  back  with  a  face  full  of  reassurance.  "No'm, 
they's  nobody  there.  Take  a  mighty  small-size  bur- 
glar to  squeeje  unda  that  baid — er — berth.  No'm, 
nobody  there." 

"Oh!" 

The  gasp  was  so  equivocal  that  he  made  bold  to 
ask: 

"Is  you  pleased  or  disappointed?" 

The  mysterious  young  woman  was  too  much  agi- 
tated to  rebuke  the  impudence.  She  merely  sighed : 
"Oh,  porter,  I'm  so  anxious." 

"I'm  not — now,"  he  muttered,  for  she  handed  him 
a  coin. 

"Porter,  have  you  seen  anybody  on  board  that 
looks  suspicious?" 

"Ewabody  looks  suspicious  to  me,  Missy.  But 
what  was  you  expecting — especial?" 

"Oh,  porter,  have  you  seen  anybody  that  looks 
like  a  detective  in  disguise?" 

"Well,  they's  one  man  looks  's  if  he  was  dis- 
guised as  a  balloon,  but  I  don't  believe  he's  no 
slooch-hound." 

"Well,  if  you  see  anything  that  looks  like  a  de- 
tective and  he  asks  for  Mrs.  Fosdick " 


A  MIXED  PICKLE  «7 

"Mrs.  What-dick?" 

"Mrs.  Fosdick!  You  tell  him  I'm  not  on  board." 
And  she  gave  him  another  coin. 

"Yassum,"  said  the  porter,  lingering  willingly  on 
such  fertile  soil.  "I'll  tell  him  Mrs.  Fosdick  done 
give  me  her  word  she  wasn't  on  bode." 

"Yes! — and  if  a  woman  should  ask  you." 

"What  kind  of  a  woman?" 

"The  hideous  kind  that  men  call  handsome." 

"Oh,  ain't  they  hideous,  them  handsome  women?" 

"Well,  if  such  a  woman  asks  for  Mrs.  Foscfick 
— she's  my  husband's  first  wife — but  of  course  that 
doesn't  interest  you." 

"No'm— yes'm." 

"If  she  comes — tell  her — tell  her — oh,  what  shall 
we  tell  her?" 

The  porter  rubbed  his  thick  skull:  "Lemme  see 
— we  might  say  you — I  tell  you  what  we'll  tell  her: 
we'll  tell  her  you  took  the  train  for  New  York;  and 
if  she  runs  mighty  fast  she  can  just  about  ketch  it." 

"Fine,  fine!"  And  she  rewarded  his  genius  with 
another  coin.  "And,  porter."  He  had  not  budged. 
"Porter,  if  a  very  handsome  man  with  luscious  eyes 
and  a  soulful  smile  asks  for  me " 

"I'll  th'ow  him  off  the  train!" 

"Oh,  no — no! — that's  my  husband — my  present 
husband.  You  may  let  him  in.  Now  is  it  all  per- 
fectly clear,  porter?" 

"Oh,  vassum,  clear  as  clear."    Thus  guaranteed 


68  EXCUSE  ME! 

she  entered  the  stateroom,  leaving  the  porter  alone 
with  his  problem.  He  tried  to  work  it  out  in  a  semi- 
audible  mumble:  "Lemme  see!  If  your  present 
husband's  absent  wife  gits  on  bode  disguised  as  a 
handsome  hideous  woman  I'm  to  throw  him — her 
— off  the  train  and  let  her — him — come  in — oh, 
yassum,  you  may  rely  on  me."  He  bowed  and  held 
out  his  hand  again.  But  she  was  gone.  He  shuffled 
on  into  the  car. 

He  had  hardly  left  the  little  space  before  the 
stateroom  when  a  handsome  man  with  luscious 
eyes,  but  without  any  smile  at  all,  came  slinking 
along  the  corridor  and  tapped  cautiously  on  the 
door.  Silence  alone  answered  him  at  first,  then 
when  he  had  rapped  again,  he  heard  a  muffled: 
"Go  away.  I'm  not  in." 

He  put  his  lips  close  and  softly  called:  "Edith!" 
At  this  Sesame  the  door  opened  a  trifle,  but  when 
he  tried  to  enter,  a  hand  thrust  him  back  and  a  voice 
again  warned  him  off.    "You  musn't  come  in." 
"But  I'm  your  husband." 

"That's  just  why  you  musn't  come  in."  The  door 
opened  a  little  wider  to  give  him  a  view  of  a  down- 
cast beauty  moaning: 

"Oh,  Arthur,  I'm  so  afraid." 
"Afraid?"    he    sniffed.      "With    your    husband 
here?" 

"That's  the  trouble,  Arthur.  What  if  your 
former  wife  should  find  us  together?" 


A  MIXED  PICKLE  69 

"But  she  and  I  are  divorced." 

"In  some  states,  yes — but  other  states  don't  ac- 
knowledge the  divorce.  That  former  wife  of  yours 
is  a  fiend  to  pursue  us  this  way." 

"She's  no  worse  than  your  former  husband.  He's 
pursuing  us,  too.  My  divorce  was  as  good  as  yours, 
my  dear." 

"Yes,  and  no  better." 

The  angels  looking  on  might  have  judged  from 
the  ready  tempers  of  the  newly  married  and  not  en- 
tirely unmarried  twain  that  their  new  alliance  prom- 
ised to  be  as  exciting  as  their  previous  estates. 
Perhaps  the  man  subtly  felt  the  presence  of  those 
eternal  eavesdroppers,  for  he  tried  to  end  the  love- 
duel  in  the  corridor  with  an  appeasing  caress  and  a 
tender  appeal:  "But  let's  not  start  our  honeymoon 
with  a  quarrel." 

His  partial  wife  returned  the  caress  and  tried  to 
explain:  "I'm  not  quarreling  with  you,  dear  heart, 
but  with  the  horrid  divorce  laws.  Why,  oh,  why 
did  we  ever  interfere  with  them?" 

He  made  a  brave  effort  with:  "We  ended  two 
unhappy  marriages,  Edith,  to  make  one  happy 
one." 

"But  I'm  so  unhappy,  Arthur,  and  so  afraid." 

He  seemed  a  trifle  afraid  himself  and  his  gaze 
was  askance  as  he  urged:  "But  the  train  will  start 
soon,  Edith — and  then  we  shall  be  safe." 

Mrs.  Fosdick  had  a  genius  for  inventing  unpleas- 


70  EXCUSE  ME! 

ant  possibilities.  "But  what  if  your  former  wife  or 
my  former  husband  should  have  a  detective  on 
board?" 

"A  detective? — poof!"  He  snapped  his  fingers 
in  bravado.  "You  are  with  your  husband,  aren't 
you?" 

"In  Illinois,  yes,"  she  admitted,  very  dolefully. 
"But  when  we  come  to  Iowa,  I'm  a  bigamist,  and 
when  we  come  to  Nebraska,  you're  a  bigamist,  and 
when  we  come  to  Wyoming,  we're  not  married  at 
all." 

It  was  certainly  a  tangled  web  they  had  woven, 
but  a  ray  of  light  shot  through  it  into  his  bewildered 
soul.  "But  we're  all  right  in  Utah.  Come,  dear- 
est." 

He  took  her  by  the  elbow  to  escort  her  into  their 
sanctuary,  but  still  she  hung  back. 

"On  one  condition,  Arthur — that  you  leave  me 
as  soon  as  we  cross  the  Iowa  state  line,  and  not 
come  back  till  we  get  to  Utah.  Remember,  the 
Iowa  state  line!" 

"Oh,  all  right,"  he  smiled.  And  seeing  the  por- 
ter, he  beckoned  him  close  and  asked  with  careless 
indifference:  "Oh,  Porter,  what  time  do  we  reach 
the  Iowa  state  line?" 

"Two  fifty-five  in  the  mawning,  sah." 

"Two  fifty-five  A.  M.?"  the  wretch  exclaimed. 

"Two  fifty-five  A.  M.,  yassah,"  the  porter  re- 
peated, and  wondered  why  this  excerpt  from  the 


A  MIXED  PICKLE  71 

time-table  should  exert  such  a  dramatic  effect  on  the 
luscious-eyed  Fosdick. 

He  had  small  time  to  meditate  the  puzzle,  for  the 
train  was  about  to  be  launched  upon  its  long  voy- 
age. He  went  out  to  the  platform,  and  watched  a 
couple  making  that  way.  As  their  only  luggage  was 
a  dog-basket  he  supposed  that  they  were  simply  come 
to  bid  some  of  his  passengers  good-bye.  No  tips 
were  to  be  expected  from  such  transients,  so  he 
allowed  them  to  help  themselves  up  the  steps. 

Mallory  and  his  Marjorie  had  tried  to  kiss  the 
farewell  of  farewells  half  a  dozen  times,  but  she 
could  not  let  him  go  at  the  gate.  She  asked  the  guard 
to  let  her  through,  and  her  beauty  was  bribe  enough. 

Again  and  again,  she  and  Mallory  paused.  He 
wanted  to  take  her  back  to  the  taxicab,  but  she  would 
not  be  so  dismissed.  She  must  spend  the  last  avail- 
able second  with  him. 

"I'll  go  as  far  as  the  steps  of  the  car,"  she  said. 
When  they  were  arrived  there,  two  porters,  a  sleep- 
ing car  conductor  and  several  smoking  saunterers 
profaned  the  tryst.  So  she  whispered  that  she  would 
come  aboard,  for  the  corridor  would  be  a  quiet  lane 
for  the  last  rites. 

And  now  that  he  had  her  actually  on  the  train, 
Mallory' s  whole  soul  revolted  against  letting  her  go. 
The  vision  of  her  standing  on  the  platform  sad- 
eyed  and  lorn,  while  the  train  swept  him  off  into 


Y2  EXCUSE  ME! 

space  was  unendurable.  He  shut  his  eyes  against  it, 
but  it  glowed  inside  the  lids. 

And  then  temptation  whispered  him  its  old  "Why 
not?"  While  it  was  working  in  his  soul  like  a  fer- 
menting yeast,  he  was  saying: 

"To  think  that  we  should  owe  all  our  misfortune 
to  an  infernal  taxicab's  break-down." 

Out  of  the  anguish  of  her  loneliness  crept  one 
little  complaint: 

"If  you  had  really  wanted  me,  you'd  have  had  two 
taxicabs." 

"Oh,  how  can  you  say  that?  I  had  the  license 
bought  and  the  minister  waiting." 

"He's  waiting  yet." 

"And  the  ring — there's  the  ring."  He  fished  it 
out  of  his  waistcoat  pocket  and  held  it  before  her 
as  a  golden  amulet. 

"A  lot  of  good  it  does  now,"  said  Marjorie. 
"You  won't  even  wait  over  till  the  next  train." 

"I've  told  you  a  thousand  times,  my  love,"  he 
protested,  desperately,  "if  I  don't  catch  the  trans- 
port, I'll  be  courtmartialed.  If  this  train  is  late, 
I'm  lost.  If  you  really  loved  me  you'd  come  along 
with  me." 

Her  very  eyes  gasped  at  this  astounding  pro- 
posal. 

"Why,  Harry  Mallory,  you  know  it's  impossible." 

Like  a  sort  of  benevolent  Satan,  he  laid  the 
ground  for  his  abduction:  "You'll  leave  me,  then, 


A  MIXED  PICKLE  73 

to  spend  three  years  without  you — out  among  those 
Manila  women." 

She  shook  her  head  in  terror  at  this  vision.  "It 
would  be  too  horrible  for  words  to  have  you  marry 
one  of  those  mahogany  sirens." 

He  held  out  the  apple.  "Better  come  along, 
then." 

"But  how  can  I?    We're  not  married." 

He  answered  airily:  "Oh,  I'm  sure  there's  a  min- 
ister on  board." 

"But  it  would  be  too  awful  to  be  married  with  all 
the  passengers  gawking.  No,  I  couldn't  face  it. 
Good-bye,  honey." 

She  turned  away,  but  he  caught  her  arm:  "Don't 
you  love  me?" 

"To  distraction.     I'll  wait  for  you,  too." 

"Three  years  is  a  long  wait." 

"But  I'll  wait,  if  you  will." 

With  such  devotion  he  could  not  tamper.  It  was 
too  beautiful  to  risk  or  endanger  or  besmirch  with 
any  danger  of  scandal.  He  gave  up  his  fantastic 
project  and  gathered  her  into  his  arms,  crowded 
her  into  his  very  soul,  as  he  vowed:  "I'll  wait  for 
you  forever  and  ever  and  ever." 

Her  arms  swept  around  his  neck,  and  she  gave 
herself  up  as  an  exile  from  happiness,  a  prisoner  of 
a  far-off  love: 

"Good-bye,  my  husband-to-be." 


74  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Good-bye  my  wife-that-was-to-have-been-and- 
will-be-yet-maybe." 

"Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

"Good-bye." 

"I  must  go." 

"Yes,  you  must." 

"One  last  kiss." 

"One  more — one  long  last  kiss." 

And  there,  entwined  in  each  other's  arms,  with 
lips  wedded  and  eyelids  clinched,  they  clung  together, 
forgetting  everything  past,  future,  or  present. 
Love's  anguish  made  them  blind,  mute,  and  deaf. 

They  did  not  hear  the  conductor  crying  his,  "All 
Aboard!"  down  the  long  wall  of  the  train.  They 
did  not  hear  the  far-off  knell  of  the  bell.  They  did 
not  hear  the  porters  banging  the  vestibules  shut. 
They  did  not  feel  the  floor  sliding  out  with  them. 

And  so  the  porter  found  them,  engulfed  in  one 
embrace,  swaying  and  swaying,  and  no  more  aware 
of  the  increasing  rush  of  the  train  than  we  other  pas- 
sengers on  the  earth-express  are  aware  of  its  speed 
through  the  ether-routes  on  its  ancient  schedule. 

The  porter  stood  with  his  box-step  in  his  hand, 
and  blinked  and  wondered.  And  they  did  not  even 
know  they  were  observed. 


CHAPTER  IX 

ALL  ABOARD  ! 

THE  starting  of  the  train  surprised  the  ironical 
decorators  in  the  last  stages  of  their  work.  Their 
smiles  died  out  in  a  sudden  shame,  as  it  came  over 
them  that  the  joke  had  recoiled  on  their  own  heads. 
They  had  done  their  best  to  carry  out  the  time- 
honored  rite  of  making  a  newly  married  couple  as 
miserable  as  possible — and  the  newly  married  couple 
had  failed  to  do  its  share. 

The  two  lieutenants  glared  at  each  other  in  mutual 
contempt.  They  had  studied  much  at  West  Point 
about  ambushes,  and  how  to  avoid  them.  Could 
Mallory  have  escaped  the  pit  they  had  digged  for 
him?  They  looked  at  their  handiwork  in  disgust. 
The  cosy-corner  effect  of  white  ribbons  and  orange 
flowers,  gracefully  masking  the  concealed  rice-trap, 
had  seemed  the  wittiest  thing  ever  devised.  Now 
it  looked  the  silliest. 

The  other  passengers  were  equally  downcast. 
Meanwhile  the  two  lovers  in  the  corridor  were  kiss- 
ing good-byes  as  if  they  were  hoping  to  store  up 
honey  enough  to  sustain  their  hearts  for  a  three 

75 


76  EXCUSE  ME! 

years'  fast.  And  the  porter  was  studying  them  with 
perplexity. 

He  was  used,  however,  to  waking  people  out  of 
dreamland,  and  he  began  to  fear  that  if  he  were 
discovered  spying  on  the  lovers,  he  might  suffer. 
So  he  coughed  discreetly  three  or  four  times. 

Since  the  increasing  racket  of  the  train  made  no 
effect  on  the  two  hearts  beating  as  one,  the  small 
matter  of  a  cough  was  as  nothing. 

Finally  the  porter  was  compelled  to  reach  forward 
and  tap  Mallory's  arm,  and  stutter: 

"  'Scuse  me,  but  co-could  I  git  b-by?" 

The  embrace  was  untied,  and  the  lovers  stared  at 
him  with  a  dazed,  where-am-I?  look.  Marjorie  was 
the  first  to  realize  what  awakened  them.  She  felt 
called  upon  to  say  something,  so  she  said,  as  care- 
lessly as  if  she  had  not  just  emerged  from, a  young 
gentleman's  arms: 

"Oh,  porter,  how  long  before  the  train  starts?" 

"Train's  done  started,  Missy." 

This  simple  statement  struck  the  wool  from  her 
eyes  and  the  cotton  from  her  ears,  and  she  was 
wide  enough  awake  when  she  cried:  "Oh,  stop  it — 
stop  it!" 

"That's  mo'n  I  can  do,  Missy,"  the  porter  expos- 
tulated. 

"Then  I'll  jump  off,"  Marjorie  vowed,  making  a 
dash  for  the  door. 


ALL  ABOARD!  77 

But  the  porter  filled  the  narrow  path,  and  waved 
her  back. 

"Vestibule's  done  locked  up — train's  going  lickety- 
split."  Feeling  that  he  had  safely  checkmated  any 
rashness,  the  porter  squeezed  past  the  dumbfounded 
pair,  and  went  to  change  his  blue  blouse  for  the 
white  coat  of  his  chambermaidenly  duties.  Mai- 
lory's  first  wondering  thought  was  a  rapturous  feel- 
ing that  circumstances  had  forced  his  dream  into 
a  reality.  He  thrilled  with  triumph:  "You've  got 
to  go  with  me  now." 

"Yes — I've  got  to  go,"  Marjorie  assented  meekly; 
then,  sublimely,  "It's  fate.  Kismet!" 

They  clutched  each  other  again  in  a  fiercely  bliss- 
ful hug.  Marjorie  came  back  to  earth  with  a  bump : 
"Are  you  really  sure  there's  a  minister  on  board?" 

"Pretty  sure,"  said  Mallory,  sobering  a  trifle. 

"But  you  said  you  were  sure?" 

"Well,  when  you  say  you're  sure,  that  means 
you're  not  quite  sure." 

It  was  not  an  entirely  satisfactory  justification,  and 
Marjorie  began  to  quake  with  alarm:  "Suppose 
there  shouldn't  be?" 

"Oh,  then,"  Mallory  answered  carelessly,  "there's 
bound  to  be  one  to-morrow." 

Marjorie  realized  at  once  the  enormous  abyss  be- 
tween then  and  the  morrow,  and  she  gasped:  "To- 
morrow! And  no  chaperon!  Oh,  I'll  jump  out 
of  the  window." 


78  EXCUSE  ME! 

Mallory  could  prevent  that,  but  when  she  pleaded, 
"What  shall  we  do?"  he  had  no  solution  to  offer. 
Again  it  was  she  who  received  the  first  inspiration. 

"I  have  it,"  she  beamed. 

"Yes,  Marjorie?"  he  assented,  dubiously. 

"We'll  pretend  not  to  be  married  at  all." 

He  seized  the  rescuing  ladder:  "That's  it!  Not 
married — just  friends." 

"Till  we  can  get  married " 

"Yes,  and  then  we  can  stop  being  friends." 

"My  love — my  friend!"  They  embraced  in  a 
most  unfriendly  manner. 

An  impatient  yelp  from  the  neglected  dog-basket 
awoke  them. 

"Oh,  Lord,  we've  brought  Snoozleums." 

"Of  course  we  have."  She  took  the  dog  from 
the  prison,  tucked  him  under  her  arm,  and  tried  to 
compose  her  bridal  face  into  a  merely  friendly  coun- 
tenance before  they  entered  the  car.  But  she  must 
pause  for  one  more  kiss,  one  more  of  those  bitter- 
sweet good-byes.  And  Mallory  was  nothing  loath. 

Hudson  and  Shaw  were  still  glumly  perplexed, 
when  the  porter  returned  in  his  white  jacket. 

"I  bet  they  missed  the  train;  all  this  work  for 
nothing,"  Hudson  grumbled.  But  Shaw,  seeing  the 
porter,  caught  a  gleam  of  hope,  and  asked  anxiously : 

"Say,  porter,  have  you  seen  anything  anywhere 
that  looks  like  a  freshly  married  pair?" 

"Well,"  and  the  porter  rubbed  his  eyes  with  the 


ALL  ABOARD!  79 

back  of  his  hand  as  he  chuckled,  "well,  they's  a 
mighty  lovin'  couple  out  theah  in  the  corridor." 

"That's  them— they— it!" 

Instantly  everything  was  alive  and  in  action.  It 
was  as  if  a  bugle  had  shrilled  in  a  dejected  camp. 

"Get  ready!"  Shaw  commanded.  "Here's  rice 
for  everybody." 

"Everybody  take  an  old  shoe,"  said  Hudson. 
"You  can't  miss  in  this  narrow  car." 

"There's  a  kazoo  for  everyone,  too,"  said  Shaw, 
as  the  outstretched  hands  were  equipped  with  wed- 
ding ammunition.  "Do  you  know  the  'Wedding 
March'?" 

"I  ought  to  by  this  time,"  said  Mrs.  Whitcomb. 

Right  into  the  tangle  of  preparation,  old  Ira 
Lathrop  stalked,  on  his  way  back  to  his  seat  to  get 
more  cigars. 

"Have  some  rice  for  the  bridal  couple?"  said 
Ashton,  offering  him  of  his  own  double-handful. 

But  Lathrop  brushed  him  aside  with  a  romance- 
hater's  growl. 

"Watch  out  for  your  head,  then,"  cried  Hudson, 
and  Lathrop  ducked  just  too  late  to  escape  a  neck- 
filling,  hair-filling  shower.  An  old  shoe  took  him  a 
clip  abaft  the  ear,  and  the  old  woman-hater  dropped 
raging  into  the  same  berth  where  the  spinster,  Anne 
Cattle,  was  trying  to  dodge  the  same  downpour. 

Still  there  was  enough  of  the  shrapnel  left  to 
overwhelm  the  two  young  "friends,"  who  marched 


80  EXCUSE  ME! 

into  the  aisle,  trying  to  look  indifferent  and  pre- 
pared for  nothing  on  earth  less  than  for  a  wedding 
charivari. 

Mallory  should  have  done  better  than  to  entrust 
his  plans  to  fellows  like  Hudson  and  Shaw,  whom 
he  had  known  at  West  Point  for  diabolically  joyous 
hazers  and  practical  jokers.  Even  as  he  sputtered 
rice  and  winced  from  the  impact  of  flying  footgear, 
he  was  cursing  himself  as  a  double-dyed  idiot  for 
asking  such  men  to  engage  his  berth  for  him.  He 
had  a  sudden  instinct  that  they  had  doubtless  be- 
decked his  trunk  and  Marjorie's  with  white  satin 
furbelows  and  ludicrous  labels.  But  he  could  not 
shelter  himself  from  the  white  sleet  and  the  black 
thumps.  He  could  hardly  shelter  Marjorie,  who 
cowered  behind  him  and  shrieked  even  louder  than 
the  romping  tormentors. 

When  the  assailants  had  exhausted  the  rice  and 
shoes,  they  charged  down  the  aisle  for  the  privi- 
lege of  kissing  the  bride.  Mallory  was  dragged 
and  bunted  and  shunted  here  and  there,  and  he  had 
to  fight  his  way  back  to  Marjorie  with  might  and 
main.  He  was  tugging  and  striking  like  a  demon, 
and  yelling,  "Stop  it!  stop  it!" 

Hudson  took  his  punishment  with  uproarious 
good  nature,  laughing: 

"Oh,  shut  up,  or  we'll  kiss  you !" 

But  Shaw  was  scrubbing  his  wry  lips  with  a  sea- 
sick wail  of: 


ALL  ABOARD!  81 

"Wow!     I  think  I  kissed  the  dog." 

There  was,  of  necessity,  some  pause  for  breath, 
and  the  combatants  draped  themselves  limply  about 
the  seats.  Mallory  glared  at  the  twin  Benedict 
Arnolds  and  demanded: 

"Are  you  two  thugs  going  to  San  Francisco  with 
us?" 

"Don't  worry,"  smiled  Hudson,  "we're  only  going 
as  far  as  Kedzie  Avenue,  just  to  start  the  honeymoon 
properly." 

If  either  of  the  elopers  had  been  calmer,  the  solu- 
tion of  the  problem  would  have  been  simple.  Mar- 
jorie  could  get  off  at  this  suburban  station  and  drive 
home  from  there.  But  their  wits  were  like  pied 
type,  and  they  were  further  jumbled,  when  Shaw 
broke  in  with  a  sudden:  "Come,  see  the  little  dove- 
cote we  fixed  for  you." 

Before  they  knew  it,  they  were  both  haled  along 
the  aisle  to  the  white  satin  atrocity.  "Love  in  a 
bungalow,"  said  Hudson.  "Sit  down — make  your- 
selves perfectly  at  home." 

"No— never — oh,  oh,  oh!"  cried  Marjorie,  dart- 
ing away  and  throwing  herself  into  the  first  empty 
seat — Ira  Lathrop's  berth.  Mallory  followed  to 
console  her  with  caresses  and  murmurs  of,  "There, 
there,  don't  cry,  dearie!" 

Hudson  and  Shaw  followed  close  with  mawkish 
mockery:  "Don't  cry,  dearie." 

And  now  Mrs.  Temple  intervened.     She  had  en- 


82  EXCUSE  ME! 

joyed  the  initiation  ceremony  as  well  as  anyone.  But 
when  the  little  bride  began  to  cry,  she  remembered 
the  pitiful  terror  and  shy  shame  she  had  undergone 
as  a  girl-wife,  and  she  hastened  to  Marjorie's  side, 
brushing  the  men  away  like  gnats. 

"You  poor  thing,"  she  comforted.  "Come,  my 
child,  lean  on  me,  and  have  a  good  cry." 

Hudson  grinned,  and  put  out  his  own  arms:  "She 
can  lean  on  me,  if  she'd  rather." 

Mrs.  Temple  glanced  up  with  indignant  rebuke: 
"Her  mother  is  far  away,  and  she  wants  a  mother's 
breast  to  weep  on.  Here's  mine,  my  dear." 

The  impudent  Shaw  tapped  his  own  military 
chest:  "She  can  use  mine." 

Infuriated  at  this  bride-baiting,  Mallory  rose  and 
confronted  the  two  imps  with  clenched  fists:  "You're 
a  pretty  pair  of  friends,  you  are !" 

The  imperturbable  Shaw  put  out  a  pair  of  tickets 
as  his  only  defence :  "Here  are  your  tickets,  old  boy." 

And  Hudson  roared  jovially:  "We  tried  to  get 
you  a  stateroom,  but  it  was  gone." 

"And  here  are  your  baggage  checks,"  laughed 
Shaw,  forcing  into  his  fists  a  few  pasteboards.  "We 
got  your  trunks  on  the  train  ahead,  all  right.  Don't 
mention  it — you're  entirely  welcome." 

It  was  the  porter  that  brought  the  first  relief  from 
the  ordeal. 

"If  you  gemmen  is  gettin'  off  at  Kedzie  Avenue, 
you'd  better  step  smart.  We're  slowin'  up  now." 


ALL  ABOARD!  83 

Marjorie  was  sobbing  too  audibly  to  hear,  and 
Mallory  swearing  too  inaudibly  to  heed  the  oppor- 
tunity Kedzie  Avenue  offered.  And  Hudson  was 
yelling:  "Well,  good-bye,  old  boy  and  old  girl.  Sorry 
we  can't  go  all  the  way."  He  had  the  effrontery 
to  try  to  kiss  the  bride  good-bye,  and  Shaw  was 
equally  bold,  but  Mallory's  fury  enabled  him  to 
beat  them  off.  He  elbowed  and  shouldered  them 
down  the  aisle,  and  sent  after  them  one  of  his  own 
shoes.  But  it  just  missed  Shaw's  flying  coattails. 

Mallory  stood  glaring  after  the  departing  trait- 
ors. He  was  glad  that  they  at  least  were  gone,  till 
he  realized  with  a  sickening  slump  in  his  vitals,  that 
they  had  not  taken  with  them  his  awful  dilemma. 
And  now  the  train  was  once  more  clickety-clicking 
into  the  night  and  the  West. 


CHAPTER  X 

EXCESS  BAGGAGE 

NEVER  wa<j  a  young  soldier  so  stumped  by  a 
p,  >blem  in  tactics  as  Lieutenant  Harry  Mallory, 
sa/ely  aboard  his  train,  and  not  daring  to  leave  it, 
yet  hopelessly  unaware  of  how  he  was  to  dispose 
of  his  lovely  but  unlabelled  baggage. 

Hudson  and  Shaw  had  erected  a  white  satin  tem- 
ple to  Hymen  in  berth  number  one,  had  created  such 
commotion,  and  departed  in  such  confusion,  that 
there  had  been  no  opportunity  to  proclaim  that  he 
and  Marjorie  were  "not  married — just  friends." 

And  now  the  passengers  had  accepted  them  as 
that  enormous  fund  of  amusement  to  any  train,  a 
newly  wedded  pair.  To  explain  the  mistake  would 
have  been  difficult,  even  among  friends.  But  among 
strangers — well,  perhaps  a  wiser  and  a  colder  brain 
than  Harry  Mallory's  could  have  stood  there  and 
delivered  a  brief  oration  restoring  truth  to  her  ped- 
estal. But  Mallory  was  in  no  condition  for  such  a 
stoic  delivery. 

He  mopped  his  brow  in  agony,  lost  in  a  blizzard 
of  bewilderments.  He  drifted  back  toward  Mar- 
jorie, half  to  protect  and  half  for  companionship. 

84 


EXCESS  BAGGAGE  85 

He  found  Mrs.  Temple  cuddling  her  close  and 
mothering  her  as  if  she  were  a  baby  instead  of  a 
bride. 

"Did  the  poor  child  run  away  and  get  married?" 

Marjorie's  frantic  "Boo-hoo-hoo"  might  have 
meant  anything.  Mrs.  Temple  took  it  for  assent, 
and  murmured  with  glowing  reminiscence : 

"Just  the  way  Doctor  Temple  and  I  did." 

She  could  not  see  the  leaping  flash  of  wild  hope 
that  lighted  up  Mallory's  face.  She  only  heard  his 
voice  across  her  shoulder: 

"Doctor?  Doctor  Temple?  Is  your  husband  a 
reverend  doctor?" 

"A  reverend  doctor?"  the  little  old  lady  repeated 
weakly. 

"Yes — a — a  preacher?" 

The  poor  old  congregation-weary  soul  was 
abruptly  confronted  with  the  ruination  of  all  the 
delight  in  her  little  escapade  with  her  pulpit-fagged 
husband.  If  she  had  ever  dreamed  that  the  girl 
who  was  weeping  in  her  arms  was  weeping  from 
any  other  fright  than  the  usual  fright  of  young 
brides,  fresh  from  the  preacher's  benediction,  she 
would  have  cast  every  other  consideration  aside, 
and  told  the  truth. 

But  her  husband's  last  behest  before  he  left  her 
had  been  to  keep  their  p-ecious  pretend-secret.  She 
felt — just  then — that  a  woman's  first  duty  is  to  obey 
her  husband.  Besides,  what  business  was  it  of  this 


86  EXCUSE  ME! 

young  husband's  what  her  old  husband's  business 
was?  Before  she  had  fairly  begun  to  debate  her 
duty,  almost  automatically,  with  the  instantaneous 
instinct  of  self-protection,  her  lips  had  uttered  the 
denial: 

"Oh — he's — just  a — plain  doctor.  There  he  is 
now." 

Mallory  cast  one  miserable  glance  down  the  aisle 
at  Dr.  Temple  coming  back  from  the  smoking  room. 
As  the  old  man  paused  to  stare  at  the  bridal  berth, 
whose  preparation  he  had  not  seen,  he  was  just 
enough  befuddled  by  his  first  cigar  for  thirty  years 
to  look  a  trifle  tipsy.  The  motion  of  the  train  and 
the  rakish  tilt  of  his  unwonted  crimson  tie  confirmed 
the  suspicion  and  annihilated  Mallory's  new-born 
hope,  that  perhaps  repentant  fate  had  dropped  a 
parson  at  their  very  feet. 

He  sank  into  the  seat  opposite  Marjorie,  who 
gave  him  one  terrified  glance,  and  burst  into  fresh 
sobs: 

"Oh — oh — boo-hoo — I'm   so   unhap — hap — py." 

Perhaps  Mrs.  Temple  was  a  little  miffed  at  the 
couple  that  had  led  her  astray  and  opened  her  own 
honeymoon  with  a  wanton  fib.  In  any  case,  the  best 
consolation  she  could  offer  Marjorie  was  a  perfunc- 
tory pat,  and  a  cynicism : 

"There,  there,  dear!  You  don't  know  what  real 
unhappiness  is  yet.  Wait  till  you've  been  married  a 
while." 


EXCESS  BAGGAGE  87 

And  then  she  noted  a  startling  lack  of  complete- 
ness in  the  bride's  hand. 

"Why — my  dear! — where's  your  wedding  ring?" 

With  what  he  considered  great  presence  of  mind, 
Mallory  explained:  "It — it  slipped  off — I — I  picked 
it  up.  I  have  it  here."  And  he  took  the  little  gold 
band  from  his  waistcoat  and  tried  to  jam  it  on  Mar- 
iorie's  right  thumb. 

"Not  on  the  thumb !"  Mrs.  Temple  cried.  "Don't 
you  know?" 

"You  see,  it's  my  first  marriage." 

"You  poor  boy — this  finger!"  And  Mrs.  Tem- 
ple, raising  Marjorie's  limp  hand,  selected  the 
proper  digit,  and  held  it  forward,  while  Mallory 
pressed  the  fatal  circlet  home. 

And  then  Mrs.  Temple,  having  completed  their 
installation  as  man  and  wife,  utterly  confounded 
their  confusion  by  her  final  effort  at  comfort:  "Well, 
my  dears,  I'll  go  back  to  my  seat,  and  leave  you 
alone  with  your  dear  husband." 

"My  dear  what?"  Marjorie  mumbled  inanely,  and 
began  to  sniffle  again.  Whereupon  Mrs.  Temple 
resigned  her  to  Mallory,  and  consigned  her  to  fate 
with  a  consoling  platitude: 

"Cheer  up,  my  dear,  you'll  be  all  right  in  the 
morning." 

Marjorie  and  Mallory's  eyes  met  in  one  wild 
clash,  and  then  both  stared  into  the  window,  and  did 
not  notice  that  the  shades  were  down. 


CHAPTER  XI 

A  CHANCE  RENCOUNTER 

WHILE  Mrs.  Temple  was  confiding  to  her  hus- 
band that  the  agitated  couple  in  the  next  seat  had 
just  come  from  a  wedding-factory,  and  had  got  on 
while  he  was  lost  in  tobacco  land,  the  people  in  the 
seat  on  the  other  side  of  them  were  engaged  in  a  lit- 
tle drama  of  their  own. 

Ira  Lathrop,  known  to  all  who  knew  him  as  a 
woman-hating  snapping-turtle,  was  so  busily  engaged 
trying  to  drag  the  farthest  invading  rice  grains  out 
of  the  back  of  his  neck,  that  he  was  late  in  realizing 
his  whereabouts.  When  he  raised  his  head,  he 
found  that  he  had  crowded  into  a  seat  with  an  un- 
comfortable looking  woman,  who  crowded  against 
the  window  with  old-maidenly  timidity. 

He  felt  some  apology  to  be  necessary,  and  he 
snarled:  "Disgusting  things,  these  weddings!"  After 
he  heard  this,  it  did  not  sound  entirely  felicitous,  so 
he  grudgingly  ventured:  "Excuse  me — you  mar- 
ried?" 

She  denied  the  soft  impeachment  so  heartily  that 
he  softened  a  little: 


A  CHANCE  RENCOUNTER  89 

"You're  a  sensible  woman.  I  guess  you  and  I 
are  the  only  sensible  people  on  this  train." 

"It — seems — so,"  she  giggled.  It  was  the  first 
time  her  spinstership  had  been  taken  as  material  for 
a  compliment.  Something  in  the  girlish  giggle  and 
the  strangely  young  smile  that  swept  twenty  years 
from  her  face  and  belied  the  silver  lines  in  her  hair, 
seemed  to  catch  the  old  bachelor's  attention.  He 
stared  at  her  so  fiercely  that  she  looked  about  for 
a  way  of  escape.  Then  a  curiously  anxious,  almost  a 
hungry,  look  softened  his  leonine  jowls  into  a  boyish 
eagerness,  and  his  growl  became  a  sort  of  gruff  purr: 

"Say,  you  look  something  like  an  old  sweetheart 
— er — friend — of  mine.  Were  you  ever  in  Brat- 
tleboro,  Vermont?" 

A  flush  warmed  her  cheek,  and  a  sense  of  home 
warmed  her  prim  speech,  as  she  confessed: 

"I  came  from  there  originally." 

"So  did  I,"  said  Ira  Lathrop,  leaning  closer,  and 
beaming  like  a  big  sun:  "I  don't  suppose  you  remem- 
ber Ira  Lathrop?" 

The  old  maid  stared  at  the  bachelor  as  if  she 
were  trying  to  see  the  boy  she  had  known,  through 
the  mask  that  time  had  modeled  on  his  face.  And 
then  she  was  a  girl  again,  and  her  voice  chimed  as 
she  cried: 

"Why,  Ira! — Mr.  Lathrop! — is  it  you?" 

She  gave  him  her  hand — both  her  hands,  and  he 
smothered  them  in  one  big  paw  and  laid  the  other 


90  EXCUSE  ME! 

on  for  extra  warmth,  as  he  nodded  his  savage  head 
and  roared  as  gentle  as  a  sucking  dove: 

"Well,  well!  Annie  —  Anne  —  Miss  Cattle! 
What  do  you  think  of  that?" 

They  gossiped  across  the  chasm  of  years  about 
people  and  things,  and  knew  nothing  of  the  excite- 
ment so  close  to  them,  saw  nothing  of  Chicago  slip- 
ping back  into  the  distance,  with  its  many  lights 
shooting  across  the  windows  like  hurled  torches. 

Suddenly  a  twinge  of  ancient  jealousy  shot 
through  the  man's  heart,  recurring  to  old  emotions. 

"So  you're  not  married,  Annie.  Whatever  be- 
came of  that  fellow  who  used  to  hang  round  you  all 
the  time?" 

"Charlie  Selby?"  She  blushed  at  the  name,  and 
thrilled  at  the  luxury  of  meeting  jealousy.  "Oh,  he 
entered  the  church.  He's  a  minister  out  in  Ogden, 
Utah." 

"I  always  knew  he'd  never  amount  to  much,"  was 
Lathrop's  epitaph  on  his  old  rival.  Then  he  started 
with  a  new  twinge:  "You  bound  for  Ogden,  too?" 

"Oh,  no,"  she  smiled,  enraptured  at  the  new  sen- 
sation of  making  a  man  anxious,  and  understanding 
all  in  a  flash  the  motives  that  make  coquettes.  Then 
she  told  him  her  destination.  "I'm  on  my  way  to 
China." 

"China!"  he  exclaimed.     "So'm  I!" 

She  stared  at  him  with  a  new  thought,  and  gushed  : 
"Oh,  Ira — are  you  a  missionary,  too?" 


A  CHANCE  RENCOUNTER  91 

"Missionary?  Hell,  no!"  he  roared.  "Excuse 
me — I'm  an  importer — Anne,  I — I " 

But  the  sonorous  swear  reverberated  in  their  ears 
like  a  smitten  bell,  and  he  blushed  for  it,  but  could 
not  recall  it. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  NEEDLE  IN  THE   HAYSTACK 

THE  almost-married  couple  sat  long  in  mutual 
terror  and  a  common  paralysis  of  ingenuity.  Mar- 
jorie,  for  lack  of  anything  better  to  do,  was  absent- 
mindedly  twisting  Snoozleums's  ears,  while  he,  that 
pocket  abridgment  of  a  dog,  in  a  well  meaning  effort 
to  divert  her  from  her  evident  grief,  made  a  great 
pretence  of  ferocity,  growling  and  threatening  to 
bite  her  fingers  off.  The  new  ring  attracted  his  spe- 
cial jealousy.  He  was  growing  discouraged  at  the 
ill-success  of  his  impersonation  of  a  wolf,  and  de- 
jected at  being  so  crassly  ignored,  when  he  suddenly 
became,  in  his  turn,  a  center  of  interest. 

Marjorie  was  awakened  from  her  trance  of  inani- 
tion by  the  porter's  voice.  His  plantation  voice  was 
ordinarily  as  thick  and  sweet  as  his  own  New  Orleans 
sorghum,  but  now  it  had  a  bitterness  that  curdled 
the  blood: 

"  'Scuse  me,  but  how  did  you-all  git  that  theah 
dog  in  this  heah  cah?" 

"Snoozleums  is  always  with  me,"  said  Marjorie 
briskly,  as  if  that  settled  it,  and  turned  for  confirma- 
tion to  the  dog  himself,  "aren't  you,  Snoozleums?" 

92 


THE  NEEDLE  IN  THE  HAYSTACK        93 

"Well,"  the  porter  drawled,  trying  to  be  gracious 
with  his  great  power,  "the  rules  don't  'low  no  live 
stock  in  the  sleepin'  cars,  'ceptin'  humans." 

Marjorie  rewarded  his  condescension  with  a 
blunt:  "Snoozleums  is  more  human  than  you  are." 

"I  p'sume  he  is,"  the  porter  admitted,  "but  he 
can't  make  up  berths.  Anyway,  the  rules  says  dogs 
goes  with  the  baggage." 

Marjorie  swept  rules  aside  with  a  defiant:  "I 
don't  care.  I  won't  be  separated  from  my  Snoozle- 
ums." 

She  looked  to  Mallory  for  support,  but  he  was  too 
sorely  troubled  with  greater  anxieties  to  be  capable 
of  any  action. 

The  porter  tried  persuasion:  "You  betta  lemme 
take  him,  the  conducta  is  wuss'n  what  I  am.  He 
th'owed  a  couple  of  dogs  out  the  window  trip  befo' 
last." 

"The  brute!" 

"Oh,  yassum,  he  is  a  regulah  brute.  He  just  loves 
to  hear  'm  splosh  when  they  light." 

Noting  the  shiver  that  shook  the  girl,  the  porter 
offered  a  bit  of  consolation: 

"Better  lemme  have  the  pore  little  thing  up  in 
the  baggage  cah.  He'll  be  in  charge  of  a  lovely 
baggage-smasher." 

"Are  you  sure  he's  a  nice  man?" 

"Oh,  yassum,  he's  death  on  trunks,  but  he's  a 
natural  born  angel  to  dogs." 


94  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Well,  if  I  must,  I  must,"  she  sobbed.  "Poor  lit- 
tle Snoozleums !  Can  he  come  back  and  see  me  to- 
morrow?" Marjorie's  tears  were  splashing  on  the 
puzzled  dog,  who  nestled  close,  with  a  foreboding 
of  disaster. 

"I  reckon  p'haps  you'd  better  visit  him." 

"Poor  dear  little  Snoozleums — good  night,  my  lit- 
tle darling.  Poor  little  child — it's  the  first  night  he's 
slept  all  by  his  'ittle  lonesome,  and " 

The  porter  was  growing  desperate.  He  clapped 
his  hands  together  impatiently  and  urged:  "I  think  I 
hear  that  conducta  comin'." 

The  ruse  succeeded.  Marjorie  fairly  forced  the 
dog  on  him.  "Quick — hide  him — hurry!"  she 
gasped,  and  sank  on  the  seat  completely  crushed. 
"I'll  be  so  lonesonv  without  Snoozleums." 

Mallory  felt  called  upon  to  remind  her  of  his 
presence.  "I — I'm  here,  Marjorie."  She  looked  at 
him  just  once — at  him,  the  source  of  all  her  troubles 
— buried  her  head  in  her  arms,  and  resumed  her 
grief.  Mallory  stared  at  her  helplessly,  then  rose 
and  bent  over  to  whisper: 

"I'm  going  to  look  through  the  train." 

"Oh,  don't  leave  me,"  she  pleaded,  clinging  to 
him  with  a  dependence  that  restored  his  respect. 

"I  must  find  a  clergyman,"  he  whispered.  "I'll  be 
back  the  minute  I  find  one,  and  I'll  bring  him  with 
me." 

The  porter  thought  he  wanted  the  dog  back,  and 


MARJORIE    FAIRLY    FORCED    THE    DOG    ON    HIM. 


THE  NEEDLE  IN  THE  HAYSTACK        95 

quickened  his  pace  till  he  reached  the  corridor,  where 
Mallory  overtook  him  and  asked,  in  an  effort  at  cas- 
ual indifference,  if  he  had  seen  anything  of  a  clergy- 
man on  board. 

"Ain't  seen  nothin'  that  even  looks  like  one,"  said 
the  porter.  Then  he  hastened  ahead  to  the  baggage 
car  with  the  squirming  Snoozleums,  while  Mallory 
followed  slowly,  going  from  seat  to  seat  and  car  to 
car,  subjecting  all  the  males  to  an  inspection  that 
rendered  some  of  them  indignant,  others  of  them 
uneasy. 

If  dear  old  Doctor  Temple  could  only  have  known 
what  Mallory  was  hunting,  he  would  have  snatched 
off  the  mask,  and  thrown  aside  the  secular  scarlet  tie 
at  all  costs.  But  poor  Mallory,  unable  to  recognize 
a  clergyman  so  dyed-in-the-wool  as  Doctor  Temple, 
sitting  in  the  very  next  seat — how  could  he  be  ex- 
pected to  pick  out  another  in  the  long  and  crowded 
train? 

All  clergymen  look  alike  when  they  are  in  con- 
vention assembled,  but  sprinkled  through  a  crowd 
they  are  not  so  easily  distinguished. 

In  the  sleeping  car  bound  for  Portland,  Mallory 
picked  one  man  as  a  clergyman.  He  had  a  lean, 
ascetic  face,  solemn  eyes,  and  he  was  talking  to  his 
seat-mate  in  an  oratorical  manner.  Mallory  bent 
down  and  tapped  the  man's  shoulder. 

The  effect  was  surprising.     The  man  jumped  as 


96  EXCUSE  ME! 

if  he  were  stabbed,  and  turned  a  pale,  frightened 
face  on  Mallory,  who  murmured: 

"Excuse  me,  do  you  happen  to  be  a  clergyman?" 

A  look  of  relief  stole  over  the  man's  features, 
followed  closely  by  a  scowl  of  wounded  vanity: 

"No,  damn  you,  I  don't  happen  to  be  a  parson.  I 
have  chosen  to  be — well,  if  you  had  watched  the 
billboards  in  Chicago  during  our  run,  you  would  not 
need  to  ask  who  I  am!" 

Mallory  mumbled  an  apology  and  hurried  on, 
just  overhearing  his  victim's  sigh: 

"Such  is  fame!" 

He  saw  two  or  three  other  clerical  persons  in 
that  car,  but  feared  to  touch  their  shoulders.  One 
man  in  the  last  seat  held  him  specially,  and  he  hid 
in  the  turn  of  the  corridor,  in  the  hope  of  eaves- 
dropping some  clue.  This  man  was  bent  and  schol- 
astic of  appearance,  and  wore  heavy  spectacles  and 
a  heavy  beard,  which  Mallory  took  for  a  guaranty 
that  he  was  not  another  actor.  And  he  was  reading 
what  appeared  to  be  printer's  proofs.  Mallory  felt 
certain  that  they  were  a  volume  of  sermons.  He  lin- 
gered timorously  in  the  environs  for  some  time  be- 
fore the  man  spoke  at  all  to  the  dreary-looking 
woman  at  his  side.  Then  the  stranger  spoke.  And 
this  is  what  he  said  and  read: 

"I  fancy  this  will  make  the  bigots  sit  up  and  take 
notice,  mother:  'If  there  ever  was  a  person  named 
Moses,  it  is  certain,  from  the  writings  ascribed  to 


THE  NEEDLE  IN  THE  HAYSTACK        97 

him,  that  he  disbelieved  the  Egyptian  theory  of  a 
life  after  death,  and  combated  it  as  a  heathenish 
superstition.  The  Judaic  idea  of  a  future  existence 
was  undoubtedly  acquired  from  the  Assyrians,  dur- 
ing the  captivity.'  ' 

He  doubtless  read  much  more,  but  Mallory  fled 
to  the  next  car.  There  he  found  a  man  in  a  frock 
coat  talking  solemnly  to  another  of  equal  solemnity. 
The  seat  next  them  was  unoccupied,  and  Mallory 
dropped  into  it,  perking  his  ears  backward  for  news. 

"Was  you  ever  in  Moline  ?"  one  voice  asked. 

"Was  I?"  the  other  muttered.  "Wasn't  I  run 
out  of  there  by  one  of  my  audiences.  I  was  givin' 
hypnotic  demonstrations,  and  I  had  a  run-in  with 
one  of  my  'horses,'  and  he  done  me  dirt.  Right  in 
the  midst  of  one  of  his  cataleptic  trances,  he  got 
down  from  the  chairs  where  I  had  stretched  him  out 
and  hollered:  'He's  a  bum  faker,  gents,  and  owes  me 
two  weeks'  pay.'  Thank  Gawd,  there  was  a  back 
door  openin'  on  a  dark  alley  leadin'  to  the  switch 
yard.  I  caught  a  caboose  just  as  a  freight  train  was 
pullin'  out." 

Mallory  could  hardly  get  strength  to  rise  and 
continue  his  search.  On  his  way  forward  he  met  the 
conductor,  crossing  a  vestibule  between  cars.  A 
happy  thought  occurred  to  Mallory.  He  said: 

"Excuse  me,  but  have  you  any  preachers  on 
board?" 

"None  so  far." 


98  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Positive." 

"How  can  you  tell?" 

"Well,  if  a  grown  man  offers  me  a  half-fare  ticket, 
I  guess  that's  a  pretty  good  sign,  ain't  it?" 

Mallory  guessed  that  it  was,  and  turned  back, 
hopeless  and  helpless. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

HOSTILITIES  BEGIN 

DURING  Mallory's  absence,  Marjorie  had  met 
with  a  little  adventure  of  her  own.  Ira  Lathrop 
finished  his  re-encounter  with  Anne  Gattle  shortly 
after  Mallory  set  out  stalking  clergymen.  In  the 
mingled  confusion  of  finding  his  one  romantic  flame 
still  glowing  on  a  vestal  altar,  and  of  shocking  her 
with  an  escape  of  profanity,  he  backed  away  from 
her  presence,  and  sank  into  his  own  berth. 

He  realized  that  he  was  not  alone.  Somebody 
was  alongside.  He  turned  to  find  the  great  tear- 
sprent  eyes  of  Marjorie  staring  at  him.  He  rose 
with  a  recrudescence  of  his  woman-hating  wrath, 
and  dashing  up  the  aisle,  found  the  porter  just  re- 
turning from  the  baggage  car.  He  seized  the  black 
factotum  and  growled: 

"Say,  porter,  there's  a  woman  in  my  berth." 

The  porter  chuckled,  incredulous: 

"Woman  in  yo'  berth !" 

"Yes — get  her  out." 

"Yassah,"  the  porter  nodded,  and  advanced  on 
Marjorie  with  a  gentle,  "  'Scuse  me,  missus — yo' 
berth  is  numba  one." 

99 


100  EXCUSE  ME! 

"I  don't  care,"  snapped  Marjorie,  "I  won't  take 
it." 

"But  this  un  belongs  to  that  gentleman." 

"He  can  have  mine — ours — Mr.  Mallory's," 
cried  Marjorie,  pointing  to  the  white-ribboned  tent 
in  the  farther  end  of  the  car.  Then  she  gripped  the 
arms  of  the  seat,  as  if  defying  eviction.  The  porter 
stared  at  her  in  helpless  chagrin.  Then  he  shuffled 
back  and  murmured:  "I  reckon  you'd  betta  put  her 
out." 

Lathrop  withered  the  coward  with  one  contemptu- 
ous look,  and  strode  down  the  aisle  with  a  deter- 
mined grimness.  He  took  his  ticket  from  his  pocket 
as  a  clinching  proof  of  his  title,  and  thrust  it  out 
at  Marjorie.  She  gave  it  one  indifferent  glance,  and 
then  her  eyes  and  mouth  puckered,  as  if  she  had 
munched  a  green  persimmon,  and  a  long  low  wail 
like  a  distant  engine-whistle,  stole  from  her  lips.  Ira 
Lathrop  stared  at  her  in  blank  wrath,  doddered  ir- 
resolutely, and  roared: 

"Agh,  let  her  have  it!" 

The  porter  smiled  triumphantly,  and  said:  "She 
says  you  kin  have  her  berth."  He  pointed  at  the 
bridal  arbor.  Lathrop  almost  exploded  at  the  idea. 

Now  he  felt  a  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  turned 
to  see  Little  Jimmie  Wellington  emerging  from  his 
berth  with  an  enormous  smile : 

"Say,  Pop,  have  you  seen  lovely  rice-trap?  Stick 
around  till  she  flops." 


HOSTILITIES  BEGIN  101 

But  Lathrop  flung  away  to  the  smoking  room. 
1  ;ttle  Jimmie  turned  to  the  jovial  negro : 

"Porter,  porter." 

"I'm  right  by  you." 

"What  time  d'you  say  we  get  to  Reno?" 

"Mawnin'  of  the  fo'th  day,  sah." 

"Well,  call  me  just  before  we  roll  in." 

And  he  rolled  in.  His  last  words  floated  down 
the  aisle  and  met  Mrs.  Little  Jimmie  Wellington 
just  returning  from  the  Women's  Room,  where  she 
had  sought  nepenthe  in  more  than  one  of  her  ex- 
quisite little  cigars.  The  familiar  voice,  familiarly 
bibulous,  smote  her  ear  with  amazement.  She  beck- 
oned the  porter  to  her  anxiously. 

"Porter!  Porter!  Do  you  know  the  name  of 
the  man  who  just  hurried  in?" 

"No'm,"  said  the  porter.  "I  reckon  he's  so  broken 
up  he  ain't  got  any  name  left." 

"It  couldn't  be,"  Mrs.  Jimmie  mused. 

"Things  can  be  sometimes,"  said  the  porter. 

"You  may  make  up  my  berth  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Wellington,  forgetting  that  Anne  Gattle  was  still 
there.  Mrs.  Wellington  hastened  to  apologize,  and 
begged  her  to  stay,  but  the  spinster  wanted  to  be 
far  away  from  the  disturbing  atmosphere  of  divorce. 
She  was  dreaming  already  with  her  eyes  open,  and 
she  sank  into  number  six  in  a  lotus-eater's  reverie. 

Mrs.  Wellington  gathered  certain  things  together 
and  took  up  her  handbag,  to  return  to  the  Women's 


102  EXCUSE  ME! 

Room,  just  as  Mrs.  Whitcomb  came  forth  from  the 
curtains  of  her  own  berth,  where  she  had  made  cer- 
tain preliminaries  to  disrobing,  and  put  on  a  light, 
decidedly  negligee  negligee. 

The  two  women  collided  in  the  aisle,  whirled  on 
one  another,  as  women  do  when  they  jostle,  recog- 
nized each  other  with  wild  stares  of  amazement, 
set  their  teeth,  and  made  a  simultaneous  dash  along 
the  corridor,  shoulder  wrestling  with  shoulder.  They 
reached  the  door  marked  "Women"  at  the  same  in- 
stant, and  as  neither  would  have  dreamed  of  offer- 
ing the  other  a  courtesy,  they  squeezed  through  to- 
gether in  a  Kilkenny  jumble. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE  DORMITORY  ON  WHEELS 

OF  all  the  shocking  institutions  in  human  history, 
the  sleeping  car  is  the  most  shocking — or  would  be, 
if  we  were  not  so  used  to  it.  There  can  be  no  doubt 
that  we  are  the  most  moral  nation  on  earth,  for 
we  admit  it  ourselves.  Perhaps  we  prove  it,  too,  by 
the  Arcadian  prosperity  of  these  two-story  hotels 
on  wheels,  where  miscellaneous  travelers  dwell  in 
complete  promiscuity,  and  sleep  almost  side  by  side, 
in  apartments,  or  compartments,  separated  only  by 
a  plank  and  a  curtain,  and  guarded  only  by  one 
sleepy  negro. 

After  the  fashion  of  the  famous  country  whose 
inhabitants  earned  a  meagre  sustenance  by  taking  in 
each  other's  washing,  so  in  Sleeping  Carpathia  we 
attain  a  meagre  respectability  by  everybody's  chap- 
eroning everybody  else. 

So  topsy-turvied,  indeed,  are  our  notions,  once 
we  are  aboard  a  train,  that  the  staterooms  alone  are 
regarded  with  suspicion;  we  question  the  motives 
of  those  who  must  have  a  room  to  themselves! — a 
room  with  a  real  door!  that  locks! ! 

And,  now,  on  this  sleeping  car,  prettily  named 
"Snowdrop,"  scenes  were  enacting  that  would  have 

103 


104  EXCUSE  ME! 

thrown  our  great-grandmothers  into  fits — scenes 
which,  if  we  found  them  in  France,  or  Japan,  we 
should  view  with  alarm  as  almost  unmentionable  evi- 
dence of  the  moral  obliquity  of  those  nations. 

But  this  was  our  own  country — the  part  of  it 
which  admits  that  it  is  the  best  part — the  moralest 
part,  the  staunch  Middle  West.  This  was  Illinois. 
Yet  dozens  of  cars  were  beholding  similar  immodes- 
tiest  in  chastest  Illinois,  and  all  over  the  map,  thou- 
sands of  people,  in  hundreds  of  cars,  were  permitting 
total  strangers  to  view  preparations  which  have 
always,  hitherto,  been  reserved  for  the  most  inti- 
mate and  legalized  relations. 

The  porter  was  deftly  transforming  the  day- 
coach  into  a  narrow  lane  entirely  surrounded  by 
portieres.  Behind  most  of  the  portieres,  fluttering 
in  the  lightest  breeze,  and  perilously  following  the 
hasty  passer-by,  homely  offices  were  being  enacted. 
The  population  of  this  little  town  was  going  to  bed. 
The  porter  was  putting  them  to  sleep  as  if  they  were 
children  in  a  nursery,  and  he  a  black  mammy. 

The  frail  walls  of  little  sanctums  were  bulging 
with  the  bodies  of  people  disrobing  in  the  aisle,  with 
nothing  between  them  and  the  beholder's  eye  but  a 
clinging  curtain  that  explained  what  it  did  not  re- 
veal. From  apertures  here  and  there  disembodied 
feet  were  protruding  and  mysterious  hands  were 
removing  shoes  and  other  things. 

Women  in  risky  attire  were  scooting  to  one  end  of 


THE  DORMITORY  ON  WHEELS        105 

the  car,  and  men  in  shirt  sleeves,  or  less,  were  has- 
tening to  the  other. 

When  Mallory  returned  to  the  "Snowdrop,"  his 
ear  was  greeted  by  the  thud  of  dropping  shoes. 
He  found  Marjorie  being  rapidly  immured,  like 
Poe's  prisoner,  in  a  jail  of  closing  walls. 

She  was  unspeakably  ill  at  ease,  and  by  the  irony 
of  custom,  the  one  person  on  whom  she  depended  for 
protection  was  the  one  person  whose  contiguity  was 
most  alarming — and  all  for  lack  of  a  brief  trialogue, 
with  a  clergyman,  as  the  tertium  quid. 

When  Mallory's  careworn  face  appeared  round 
the  edge  of  the  partition  now  erected  between  her 
and  the  abode  of  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Temple,  Mar- 
jorie shivered  anew,  and  asked  with  all  anxiety: 

"Did  you  find  a  minister?" 

Perhaps  the  Recording  Angel  overlooked  Mal- 
lory's answer:  "Not  a  damn'  minister." 

When  he  dropped  at  Marjorie's  side,  she  edged 
away  from  him,  pleading:  "Oh,  what  shall  we  do?" 

He  answered  dismally  and  ineffectively:  "We'll 
have  to  go  on  pretending  to  be — just  friends." 

"But  everybody  thinks  we're  married." 

"That's  so!"  he  admitted,  with  the  imbecility  of 
fatigued  hope.  They  sat  a  while  listening  to  the 
porter  slipping  sheets  into  place  and  thumping  pil- 
lows into  cases,  a  few  doors  down  the  street.  He 
would  be  ready  for  them  at  any  moment.  Something 
must  be  done,  but  what?  what? 


CHAPTER  XV 

A  PREMATURE  DIVORCE 

SuLDENLY  Marjorie's  heart  gave  a  leap  of  joy. 
She  was  having  another  idea.  "I'll  tell  you,  Harry. 
We'll  pretend  to  quarrel,  and  then " 

"And  then  you  can  leave  me  in  high  dudgeon." 

The  ruse  struck  him  as  a  trifle  unconvincing. 
"Don't  you  think  it  looks  kind  of  improbable  on — 
on — such  an  occasion?" 

Marjorie  blushed,  and  lowered  her  eyes  and  her 
voice:  "Can  you  suggest  anything  better?" 

"No,  but " 

"Then,  we'll  have  to  quarrel,  darling." 

He  yielded,  for  lack  of  a  better  idea :  "All  right, 
beloved.  How  shall  we  begin?" 

On  close  approach,  the  idea  did  seem  rather  im- 
possible to  her.  "How  could  I  ever  quarrel  with 
you,  my  love?"  she  cooed. 

He  gazed  at  her  with  a  rush  of  lovely  tenderness: 
"And  how  could  I  ever  speak  crossly  to  you?" 

"We  never  shall  have  a  harsh  word,  shall  we?" 
she  resolved. 

"Never !"  he  seconded.  So  that  resolution  passed 
the  House  unanimously. 

106 


A  PREMATURE  DIVORCE  107 

They  held  hands  in  luxury  a  while,  then  she  began 
again:  "Still,  we  must  pretend.  You  start  it,  love." 

"No,  you  start  it,"  he  pleaded. 

"You  ought  to,"  she  beamed.  "You  got  me  into 
this  mess." 

The  word  slipped  out.  Mallory  started:  "Mess! 
How  is  it  my  fault?  Good  Lord,  are  you  going  to 
begin  chucking  it  up?" 

"Well,  you  must  admit,  darling,"  Marjorie  urged, 
"that  you've  bungled  everything  pretty  badly." 

It  was  so  undeniable  that  he  could  only  groan: 
"And  I  suppose  I'll  hear  of  this  till  my  dying  day, 
dearest." 

Marjorie  had  a  little  temper  all  her  own.  So  she 
defended  it:  "If  you  are  so  afraid  of  my  temper, 
love,  perhaps  you'd  better  call  it  all  off  before  it's 
too  late." 

"I  didn't  say  anything  about  your  temper,  sweet- 
heart," Mallory  insisted. 

"You  did,  too,  honey.  You  said  I'd  chuck  this 
up  till  your  dying  day.  As  if  I  had  such  a  disposi- 
tion! You  can  stay  here."  She  rose  to  her  feet. 
He  pressed  her  back  with  a  decisive  motion,  and 
demanded:  "Where  are  you  going?" 

"Up  in  the  baggage  car  with  Snoozleums,"  she 
sniffled.  "He's  the  only  one  that  doesn't  find  fault 
with  me." 

Mallory  was  stung  to  action  by  this  crisis: 
"Wait,"  he  said.  He  leaned  out  and  motioned  down 


108  EXCUSE  ME! 

the  alley.  "Porter!  Wait  a  moment,  darling.  Por- 
ter!" 

The  porter  arrived  with  a  half-folded  blanket  in 
his  hands,  and  his  usual,  "Yassah!" 

Beckoning  him  closer,  Mallory  mumbled  in  a 
low  tone:  "Is  there  an  extra  berth  on  this  car?" 

The  porter's  eyes  seemed  to  rebuke  his  ears. 
"Does  you  want  this  upper  made  up?" 

"No — of  course  not." 

"Ex — excuse  me,  I  thought " 

"Don't  you  dare  to  think!"  Mallory  thundered. 
"Isn't  there  another  lower  berth?" 

The  porter  breathed  hard,  and  gave  this  bridal 
couple  up  as  a  riddle  that  followed  no  known  rules. 
He  went  to  find  the  sleeping  car  conductor,  and 
returned  with  the  information  that  the  diagram 
showed  nobody  assigned  to  number  three. 

"Then  I'll  take  number  three,"  said  Mallory,  pok- 
ing money  at  the  porter.  And  still  the  porter  could 
not  understand. 

"Now,  lemme  onderstan'  you-all,"  he  stammered. 
"Does  you  both  move  over  to  numba  three,  or  does 
yo' — yo'  lady  remain  heah,  while  jest  you  pream- 
bulates?" 

"Just  I  preambulate,  you  black  hound!"  Mal- 
lory answered,  in  a  threatening  tone.  The  porter 
could  understand  that,  at  least,  and  he  bristled  away 
with  a  meek:  "Yassah.  Numba  three  is  yours, 
sah." 


A  PREMATURE  DIVORCE  109 

The  troubled  features  of  the  baffled  porter  cleared 
up  as  by  magic  when  he  arrived  at  number  three, 
for  there  he  found  his  tyrant  and  tormentor,  the 
English  invader. 

He  remembered  how  indignantly  Mr.  Wedge- 
wood  had  refused  to  show  his  ticket,  how  cocksure 
he  was  of  his  number,  how  he  had  leased  the  por- 
ter's services  as  a  sort  of  private  nurse,  and  had  paid 
no  advance  royalties. 

And  now  he  was  sprawled  and  snoring  majestic- 
ally among  his  many  luggages,  like  a  sleeping  lion. 
Revenge  tasted  good  to  the  humble  porter;  it  tasted 
like  a  candied  yam  smothered  in  'possum  gravy.  He 
smacked  his  thick  lips  over  this  revenge.  With  all 
the  insolence  of  a  servant  in  brief  authority,  he 
gloated  over  his  prey,  and  prodded  him  awake.  Then 
murmured  with  hypocritical  deference:  "Excuse  me, 
but  could  I  see  yo'  ticket  for  yo'  seat?" 

"Certainly  not !  It's  too  much  trouble,"  grumbled 
the  half  asleeper.  "Confound  you!" 

The  porter  lured  him  on:  "Is  you  sho'  you  got 
one?" 

Wedgewood  was  wide  awake  now,  and  surly  as 
any  Englishman  before  breakfast:  "Of  cawse  I'm 
shaw.  How  dare  you?" 

"Too  bad,  but  I'm  'bleeged  to  ask  you  to  gimme 
a  peek  at  it." 

"This  is  an  outrage!" 

"Yassah,  but  I  just  nachelly  got  to  see  it." 


110  EXCUSE  ME! 

Wedgewood  gathered  himself  together,  and  ran- 
sacked his  many  pockets  with  increasing  anger,  mut- 
tering under  his  breath.  At  length  he  produced  the 
ticket,  and  thrust  it  at  the  porter:  "Thah,  you  idiot, 
are  you  convinced  now?" 

The  porter  gazed  at  the  billet  with  ill-concealed 
triumph.  "Yassah.  I's  convinced,"  Mr.  Wedge- 
wood  settled  back  and  closed  his  eyes.  "I's  con- 
vinced that  you  is  in  the  wrong  berth !" 

"Impossible!  I  won't  believe  you!"  the  English- 
man raged,  getting  to  his  feet  in  a  fury. 

"Perhaps  you'll  believe  Mista  Ticket,"  the  porter 
chortled.  "He  says  numba  ten,  and  that's  ten  across 
the  way  and  down  the  road  a  piece." 

"This  is  outrageous!    I  decline  to  move." 

"You  may  decline,  but  you  move  just  the  same," 
the  porter  said,  reaching  out  for  his  various  bags 
and  carryalls.  "The  train  moves  and  you  move 
with  it." 

Wedgewood  stood  fast:  "You  had  no  right  to 
put  me  in  here  in  the  first  place." 

The  porter  disdained  to  refute  this  slander.  He 
stumbled  down  the  aisle  with  the  bundles.  "It's  too 
bad,  it's  sutt'nly  too  bad,  but  you  sholy  must  come 
along." 

Wedgewood    followed,    gesticulating    violently. 

"Here — wait — how  dare  you!  And  that  berth  is 
made  up.  I  don't  want  to  go  to  bed  now  I" 

"Mista  Ticket  says,  'Go  to  baid!'  " 


A  PREMATURE  DIVORCE  111 

"Of  all  the  disgusting  countries!  Heah,  don't 
put  that  thah — heah." 

The  porter  flung  his  load  anywhere,  and  ab- 
solved himself  with  a  curt,  "I's  got  otha  passengers 
to  wait  on  now." 

"I  shall  certainly  report  you  to  the  company," 
the  Englishman  fumed. 

"Yassah,  I  p'sume  so." 

"Have  I  got  to  go  to  bed  now?    Really,  I " 

but  the  porter  was  gone,  and  the  irate  foreigner 
crawled  under  his  curtains,  muttering:  "I  shall  write 
a  letter  to  the  London  Times  about  this." 

To  add  to  his  misery,  Mrs.  Whitcomb  came  from 
the  Women's  Room,  and  as  she  passed  him,  she 
prodded  him  with  one  sharp  elbow  and  twisted  the 
corner  of  her  heel  into  his  little  toe.  He  thrust  his 
head  out  with  his  fiercest,  "How  dare  you!"  But 
Mrs.  Whitcomb  was  fresh  from  a  prolonged  encoun- 
ter with  Mrs.  Wellington,  and  she  flung  back  a  ven- 
omous glare  that  sent  the  Englishman  to  cover. 

The  porter  reveled  in  his  victory  till  he  had  to 
dash  out  to  the  vestibule  to  give  vent  to  hilarious 
yelps  of  laughter.  When  he  had  regained  compo- 
sure, he  came  back  to  Mallory,  and  bent  over  him  to 
say: 

"Yo'  berth  is  empty,  sah.    Shall  I  make  it  up?" 
Mallory  nodded,  and  turned  to  Marjorie,  with 
a  sad,  "Good  night,  darling." 

The  porter  rolled  his  eyes  again,  and  turned  away, 


112  EXCUSE  ME! 

only  to  be  recalled  by  Marjorie's  voice:  "Porter, 
take  this  old  handbag  out  of  here." 

The  porter  thought  of  the  vanquished  Lathrop, 
exiled  to  the  smoking  room,  and  he  answered:  "That 
belongs  to  the  gemman  what  owns  this  berth." 

"Put  it  in  number  one,"  Marjorie  commanded, 
with  a  queenly  gesture. 

The  porter  obeyed  meekly,  wondering  what  would 
happen  next.  He  had  no  sooner  deposited  Lathrop's 
valise  among  the  incongruous  white  ribbons,  than 
Marjorie  recalled  him  to  say:  "And,  Porter,  you 
may  bring  me  my  own  baggage." 

"Yo'  what — missus?" 

"Our  handbags,  idiot,"  Mallory  explained, 
peevishly. 

"I  ain't  seen  no  handbags  of  you-alls,"  the  por- 
ter protested.  "You-all  didn't  have  no  handbags 
when  you  got  on  this  cah." 

Mallory  jumped  as  if  he  had  been  shot.  "Good 
Lord,  I  remember!  We  left  'em  in  the  taxicab!" 

The  porter  cast  his  hands  up,  and  walked  away 
from  the  tragedy.  Marjorie  stared  at  Mallory  in 
horror. 

"We  had  so  little  time  to  catch  the  train,"  Mal- 
lory stammered.  Marjorie  leaped  to  her  feet:  "I'm 
going  up  in  the  baggage  car." 

"For  the  dog?" 

"For  my  trunk." 

And  now  Mallory  annihilated  her  completely,  for 


A  PREMATURE  DIVORCE  113 

he  gasped:  "Our  trunks  went  on  the  train  ahead !" 

Marjorie  fell  back  for  one  moment,  then  bounded 
to  her  feet  with  shrill  commands:  "Porter!  Porter! 
I  want  you  to  stop  this  train  this  minute!" 

The  porter  called  back  from  the  depths  of  a 
berth:  "This  train  don't  stop  till  to-morrow 
noon." 

Marjorie  had  strength  enough  for  only  one  vain 
protest:  "Do  you  mean  to  say  that  I've  got  to  go  to 
San  Francisco  in  this  waist — a  waist  that  has  seen  a 
whole  day  in  Chicago?" 

The  best  consolation  Mallory  could  offer  was  com- 
panionship in  misery.  He  pushed  forward  one  not 
too  immaculate  cuff.  "Well,  this  is  the  only  linen  I 
have." 

"Don't  speak  to  me,"  snapped  Marjorie,  beating 
her  heels  against  the  floor. 

"But,  my  darling!" 

"Go  away  and  leave  me.    I  hate  you!" 

Mallory  rose  up,  and  stumbling  down  the  aisle, 
plounced  into  berth  number  three,  an  allegory  of 
despair. 

About  this  time,  Little  Jimmie  Wellington,  having 
completed  more  or  less  chaotic  preparations  for 
sleep,  found  that  he  had  put  on  his  pyjamas  hindside 
foremost.  After  vain  efforts  to  whirl  round  quickly 
and  get  at  his  own  back,  he  put  out  a  frowsy  head, 
and  called  for  help. 

"Say,  Porter,  Porter!" 


114  EXCUSE  ME! 

"I'm  still  on  the  train,"  answered  the  porter,  com- 
ing into  view. 

"You'll  have  to  hook  me  up." 

The  porter  rendered  what  aid  and  correction  he 
could  in  Wellington's  hippopotamine  toilet.  Wel- 
lington was  just  wide  enough  awake  to  discern  the 
undisturbed  bridal-chamber.  He  whined: 

"Say,  Porter,  that  rice-trap.  Aren't  they  going 
to  flop  the  rice-trap  ?" 

The  porter  shook  his  head  sadly.  "Don't  look 
like  that  floppers  a'goin'  to  flip.  That  dog-on  bridal 
couple  is  done  divorced  a'ready!" 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GOOD  NIGHT,  ALL ! 

THE  car  was  settling  gradually  into  peace.  But 
there  was  still  some  murmur  and  drowsy  energy. 
Shoes  continued  to  drop,  heads  to  bump  against 
upper  berths,  the  bell  to  ring  now  and  then,  and  ring 
again  and  again. 

The  porter  paid  little  heed  to  it;  he  was  busy 
making  up  number  five  (Ira  Lathrop's  berth)  for 
Marjorie,  who  was  making  what  preparations  she 
could  for  her  trousseauless,  husbandless,  dogless 
first  night  out. 

Finally  the  Englishman,  who  had  almost  rung  the 
bell  dry  of  electricity,  shoved  from  his  berth  his  in- 
dignant and  undignified  head.  Once  more  the  car 
resounded  with  the  cry  of  "Pawtah !  Pawtah !" 

The  porter  moved  up  with  noticeable  delibera- 
tion. "Did  you  ring,  sah?" 

"Did  I  ring!  Paw-tah,  you  may  draw  my  tub  at 
eight-thutty  in  the  mawning." 

"Draw  yo' — what,  sah?"  the  porter  gasped. 

"My  tub." 

"Ba-ath  tub?" 

"Bahth  tub." 

115 


116  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Lawdy,  man.  Is  you  allowin'  to  take  a  ba-ath 
in  the  mawnin'?" 

"Of  course  I  am." 

"Didn't  you  have  one  befo'  you  stahted?" 

"How  dare  you!     Of  cawse  I  did." 

"Well,  that's  all  you  git." 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  there  is  no  tub  on 
this  beastly  train?"  Wedgewood  almost  fell  out 
of  bed  with  the  shock  of  this  news. 

"We  do  not  carry  tubs — no,  sah.  There's  a  lot 
of  tubs  in  San  Francisco,  though." 

"No  tub  on  this  train  for  four  days!"  Wedge- 
wood  sighed.  "But  whatever  does  one  do  in  the 
meanwhile?" 

"One  just  waits.     Yassah,  one  and  all  waits." 

"It's  ghahstly,  that's  what  it  is,  ghahstly." 

"Yassah,"  said  the  porter,  and  mumbled  as  he 
walked  away,  "but  the  weather  is  gettin'  cooler." 

He  finished  preparing  Marjorie's  bunk,  and  was 
just  suggesting  that  Mallory  retreat  to  the  smoking 
room  while  number  three  was  made  up,  when  there 
was  a  commotion  in  the  corridor,  and  a  man  in 
checked  overalls  dashed  into  the  car. 

His  ear  was  slightly  red,  and  he  held  at  arm's 
length,  as  if  it  were  a  venomous  monster,  Snoozle- 
ums.  And  he  yelled: 

"Say,  whose  durn  dog  is  this?  He  bit  two  men, 
and  he  makes  so  much  noise  we  can't  sleep  in  the  bag- 
gage car." 


GOOD  NIGHT,  ALL!  117 

Marjorie  went  flying  down  the  aisle  to  reclaim  her 
1  jst  lamb  in  wolf's  clothing,  and  Snoozleums,  the 
returned  prodigal,  yelped  and  leaped,  and  told  her 
all  about  the  indignities  he  had  been  subjected  to, 
and  his  valiant  struggle  for  liberty. 

Marjorie,  seeing  only  Snoozleums,  stepped  into 
the  fatal  berth  number  one,  and  paid  no  heed  to  the 
dangling  ribbons.  Mallory,  eager  to  restore  himself 
to  her  love  by  loving  her  dog,  crowded  closer  to 
her  side,  making  a  hypocritical  ado  over  the  pup. 

Everybody  was  popping  his  or  her  face  out  to 
learn  the  cause  of  such  clamor.  Among  the  bodi- 
less heads  suspended  along  the  curtains,  like  Dyak 
trophies,  appeared  the  great  mask  of  Little  Jimmie 
Wellington.  He  had  been  unable  to  sleep  for 
mourning  the  wanton  waste  of  that  lovely  rice-trap. 

When  he  peered  forth,  his  eyes  hardly  believed 
themselves.  The  elusive  bride  and  groom  were  actu- 
ally in  the  trap — the  hen  pheasant  and  the  chanti- 
cleer. But  the  net  did  not  fall.  He  waited  to  see 
them  sit  down,  and  spring  the  infernal  machine.  But 
they  would  not  sit. 

In  fact,  Marjorie  was  muttering  to  Harry — ten- 
derly, now,  since  he  had  won  her  back  by  his  efforts 
to  console  Snoozleums — she  was  muttering  tenderly : 

"We  must  not  be  seen  together,  honey.  Go  away, 
I'll  see  you  in  the  morning." 

And  Mallory  was  saying  with  bitterest  resigna- 
tion: "Good  night — my  friend." 


118  EXCUSE  ME! 

And  they  were  shaking  hands!  This  incredible 
bridal  couple  was  shaking  hands  with  itself — disin- 
tegrating! Then  Wellington  determined  to  do  at 
least  his  duty  by  the  sacred  rites. 

The  gaping  passengers  saw  what  was  probably 
the  largest  pair  of  pyjamas  in  Chicago.  They  saw 
Little  Jimmie,  smothering  back  his  giggles  like  a 
schoolboy,  tiptoe  from  his  berth,  enter  the  next 
berth,  brushing  the  porter  aside,  climb  on  the  seat, 
and  clutch  the  ribbon  that  pulled  the  stopper  from 
the  trap. 

Down  upon  the  unsuspecting  elopers  came  this 
miraculous  cloudburst  of  ironical  rice,  and  with  it 
came  Little  Jimmie  Wellington,  who  lost  what  lit- 
tle balance  he  had,  and  catapulted  into  their  midst 
like  the  offspring  of  an  iceberg. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  Mrs.  Wellington, 
hearing  the  loud  cries  of  the  panic-stricken  Marjorie, 
rushed  from  the  Women's  Room,  absent-mindedly 
combing  a  totally  detached  section  of  her  hair.  She 
recognized  familiar  pyjamas  waving  in  air,  and  with 
one  faint  gasp:  "Jimmie!  on  this  train!"  she 
swooned  away.  She  would  have  fallen,  but  seeing 
that  no  one  paid  any  attention  to  her,  she  recovered 
consciousness  on  her  own  hook,  and  vanished  into 
her  berth,  to  meditate  on  the  whys  and  wherefores  of 
her  husband's  presence  in  this  car. 

Dr.  Temple  in  a  nightgown  and  trousers,  Roger 
Ashton  in  a  collarless  estate,  and  the  porter,  man- 


DOWN    UPON    THE   UNSUSPECTING    ELOPERS    CAME   THIS    MIRACULOUS 
CLOUDBURST   OF    IRONICAL   RICE 


GOOD  NIGHT,  ALL!  119 

aged  to  extricate  Mr.  Wellington  from  his  plight, 
and  stow  him  away,  though  it  was  like  putting  a 
whale  to  bed. 

Mallory,  seeing  that  Marjorie  had  fled,  vented 
his  wild  rage  against  fate  in  general,  and  rice  traps 
in  particular,  by  tearing  the  bridal  bungalow  to 
pieces,  and  then  he  stalked  into  the  smoking  room, 
where  Ira  Lathrop,  homeless  and  dispossessed,  was 
sound  asleep,  with  his  feet  in  the  chair. 

He  was  dreaming  that  he  was  a  boy  in  Brattle- 
boro,  the  worst  boy  in  Brattleboro,  trying  to  get  up 
the  courage  to  spark  pretty  Anne  Gattle,  and  throw- 
ing rocks  at  the  best  boy  in  town,  Charlie  Selby,  who 
was  always  at  her  side.  The  porter  woke  Ira,  an 
hour  later,  and  escorted  him  to  the  late  bridal 
section. 

Marjorie  had  fled  with  her  dog,  as  soon  as  she 
could  grope  her  way  through  the  deluge  of  rice. 
She  hopped  into  her  berth,  and  spent  an  hour  trying 
to  clear  her  hair  of  the  multitudinous  grains.  And 
as  for  Snoozleums,  his  thick  wool  was  so  be-riced 
that  for  two  days,  whenever  he  shook  himself,  he 
snew. 

Eventually,  the  car  quieted,  and  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  rumble  and  click  of  the  wheels  on 
the  rails,  the  creak  of  timbers,  and  the  frog-like 
chorus  of  a  few  well-trained  snorers.  As  the  por- 
ter was  turning  down  the  last  of  the  lights,  a  rumpled 


120  EXCUSE  ME! 

pate  was  thrust  from  the  stateroom,  and  the  luscious- 
eyed  man  whispered: 

"Porter,  what  time  did  you  say  we  crossed  the 
Iowa  State  line?" 

"Two  fifty-five  A.  M." 

From  within  the  stateroom  came  a  deep  sigh,  then 
with  a  dismal  groan:  "Call  me  at  two  fifty-five 
A.  M.,"  the  door  was  closed. 

Poor  Mallory,  pyjamaless  and  night-shirtless,  lay 
propped  up  on  his  pillows,  staring  out  of  the  window 
at  the  swiftly  shifting  night  scene.  The  State  of 
Illinois  was  being  pulled  out  from  under  the  train 
like  a  dark  rug. 

Farmhouses  gleamed  or  dreamed  lampless.  The 
moonlight  rippled  on  endless  seas  of  wheat  and 
Indian  corn.  Little  towns  slid  up  and  away.  Large 
towns  rolled  forward,  and  were  left  behind.  Ponds, 
marshes,  brooks,  pastures,  thickets  and  great  gloomy 
groves  flowed  past  as  on  a  river.  But  the  same 
stars  and  the  moon  seemed  to  accompany  the  train. 
If  the  flying  witness  had  been  less  heavy  of  heart,  he 
would  have  found  the  reeling  scene  full  of  grace  and 
night  beauty.  But  he  could  not  see  any  charm  in  all 
the  world,  except  his  tantalizing  other  self,  from 
whom  a  great  chasm  seemed  to  divide  him,  though 
she  was  only  two  windows  away. 

He  had  not  yet  fallen  asleep,  and  he  was  still  pon- 
dering how  to  attain  his  unmarried,  unmarriable 
bride,  when  the  train  rolled  out  in  air  above  a  great 


GOOD  NIGHT,  ALL!  121 

wide  river,  very  noble  under  the  stars.  He  knew 
it  for  the  Mississippi.  He  heard  a  faint  knocking 
on  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  the  car.  He  heard 
sounds  as  of  kisses,  and  then  somebody  tiptoed 
along  the  aisle  stealthily.  He  did  not  know  that 
another  bridegroom  was  being  separated  from  his 
bride  because  they  were  too  much  married. 
Somewhere  in  Iowa  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LAST  CALL  FOR  BREAKFAST 

IT  was  still  Iowa  when  Mallory  awoke.  Into  his 
last  moments  of  heavy  sleep  intruded  a  voice  like  a 
town-crier's  voice,  crying : 

"Lass  call  for  breakfuss  in  the  Rining  Rar,"  and 
then,  again  louder,  "Lass  call  for  breakfuss  in  Rinin- 
rar,"  and,  finally  and  faintly,  "Lasscall  breakfuss 


ri'rar." 


Mallory  pushed  up  his  window  shade.  The  day 
was  broad  on  rolling  prairies  like  billows  established 
in  the  green  soil.  He  peeked  through  his  curtains. 
Most  of  the  other  passengers  were  up  and  about, 
their  beds  hidden  and  beddings  stowed  away  behind 
the  bellying  veneer  of  the  upperworks  of  the  car. 
All  the  berths  were  made  up  except  his  own  and 
number  two,  in  the  corner,  where  Little  Jimmie  Wel- 
lington's nose  still  played  a  bagpipe  monody,  and  one 
other  berth,  which  he  recognized  as  Marjorie's. 

His  belated  sleep  and  hers  had  spared  them  both 
the  stares  and  laughing  chatter  of  the  passengers. 
But  this  bridal  couple's  two  berths,  standing  like 
towers  among  the  seats  had  provided  conversation 

122 


LAST  CALL  FOR  BREAKFAST    123 

for  everybody,  had  already  united  the  casual  group 
of  strangers  into  an  organized  gossip-bee. 

Mallory  got  into  his  shoes  and  as  much  of  his 
clothes  as  was  necessary  for  the  dash  to  the  wash- 
room, and  took  on  his  arm  the  rest  of  his  wardrobe. 
Just  as  he  issued  from  his  lonely  chamber,  Mar- 
jorie  appeared  from  hers,  much  disheveled  and 
heavy-eyed.  The  bride  and  groom  exchanged 
glances  of  mutual  terror,  and  hurried  in  opposite 
directions. 

The  spickest  and  spannest  of  lieutenants  soon  real- 
ized that  he  was  reduced  to  wearing  yesterday's  linen 
as  well  as  yesterday's  beard.  This  was  intolerable. 
A  brave  man  can  endure  heartbreaks,  loss  of  love, 
honor  and  place,  but  a  neat  man  cannot  abide  the 
traces  of  time  in  his  toilet.  Lieutenant  Mallory  had 
seen  rough  service  in  camp  and  on  long  hikes,  when 
he  gloried  in  mud  and  disorder,  and  he  was  to  see 
campaigns  in  the  Philippines,  when  he  should  not 
take  off  his  shoes  or  his  uniform  for  three  days  at 
a  time.  But  that  was  the  field,  and  this  car  was 
a  drawing  room. 

In  this  crisis  in  his  affairs,  Little  Jimmie  Welling- 
ton waddled  into  the  men's  room,  floundering  about 
with  every  lurch  of  the  train,  like  a  cannon  loose  in 
the  hold  of  a  ship.  He  fumbled  with  the  handles 
on  a  basin,  and  made  a  crazy  toilet,  trying  to  find 
some  abatement  of  his  fever  by  filling  a  glass  at  the 
ice-water  tank  and  emptying  it  over  his  head. 


124  EXCUSE  ME! 

These  drastic  measures  restored  him  to  some  sort 
of  coherency,  and  Mallory  appealed  to  him  for  help 
in  the  matter  of  linen.  Wellington  effusively  offered 
him  everything  he  had,  and  Mallory  selected  from 
his  store  half  a  dozen  collars,  any  one  of  which 
would  have  gone  round  his  neck  nearly  twice. 

Wellington  also  proffered  his  safety  razor,  and 
made  him  a  present  of  a  virgin  wafer  of  steel  for 
his  very  own. 

With  this  assistance,  Mallory  was  enabled  to 
make  himself  fairly  presentable.  When  he  returned 
to  his  seat,  the  three  curtained  rooms  had  been 
whisked  away  by  the  porter.  There  was  no  place 
now  to  hide  from  the  passengers. 

He  sat  down  facing  the  feminine  end  of  the  car, 
watching  for  Marjorie.  The  passengers  were  watch- 
ing for  her,  too,  hoping  to  learn  what  unheard-of 
incident  could  have  provoked  the  quarrel  that  sep- 
arated a  bride  and  groom  at  this  time,  of  all  times. 

To  the  general  bewilderment,  when  Marjorie 
appeared,  Mallory  and  she  rushed  together  and 
clasped  hands  with  an  ardor  that  suggested  a  desire 
for  even  more  ardent  greeting.  The  passengers  al- 
most sprained  their  ears  to  hear  how  they  would 
make  up  such  a  dreadful  feud.  But  all  they  heard 
was:  "We'll  have  to  hurry,  Marjorie,  if  we  want 
to  get  any  breakfast." 

"All  right,  honey.    Come  along." 

Then  the  inscrutable  couple  scurried  up  the  aisle, 


LAST  CALL  FOR  BREAKFAST    125 

and  disappeared  in  the  corridor,  leaving  behind  them 
a  mighty  riddle.  They  kissed  in  the  corridor  of  that 
car,  kissed  in  the  vestibule,  kissed  in  the  two  corri- 
dors of  the  next  car,  and  were  caught  kissing  in  the 
next  vestibule  by  the  new  conductor. 

The  dining  car  conductor,  who  flattered  himself 
that  he  knew  a  bride  and  groom  when  he  saw  them, 
escorted  them  grandly  to  a  table  for  two;  and  the 
waiter  fluttered  about  them  with  extraordinary  con- 
sideration. 

They  had  a  plenty  to  talk  of  in  prospect  and  retro- 
spect. They  both  felt  sure  that  a  minister  lurked 
among  the  cars  somewhere,  and  they  ate  with  a 
zest  to  prepare  for  the  ceremony,  arguing  the  best 
place  for  it,  and  quarreling  amorously  over  details. 
Mallory  was  for  one  of  the  vestibules  as  the  scene 
of  their  union,  but  Marjorie  was  for  the  baggage 
car,  till  she  realized  that  Snoozleums  might  be  unwil- 
ling to. attend.  Then  she  swung  round  to  the  vesti- 
bule, but  Mallory  shifted  to  the  observation  plat- 
form. 

Marjorie  had  left  Snoozleums  with  Mrs.  Temple, 
who  promised  to  hide  him  when  the  new  conductor 
passed  through  the  car,  and  she  reminded  Harry 
to  get  the  waiter  to  bring  them  a  package  of  bones 
for  their  only  "child,"  so  far. 

On  the  way  back  from  the  dining  car  they  kissed 
each  other  good-bye  again  at  all  the  trysting  places 
they  had  sanctified  before.  The  sun  was  radiant,  the 


126  EXCUSE  ME! 

world  good,  and  the  very  train  ran  with  jubilant 
rejoicing.  They  could  not  doubt  that  a  few  more 
hours  would  see  them  legally  man  and  wife. 

Mallo'y  restored  Marjorie  to  her  place  in  their 
car,  and  with  smiles  of  assurance,  left  her  for  an- 
other parson-hunt  through  the  train.  She  waited 
for  him  in  a  bridal  agitation.  He  ransacked  the 
train  forward  in  vain,  and  returned,  passing  Mar- 
jorie with  a  shake  of  the  head  and  a  dour  counte- 
nance. He  went  out  to  the  observation  platform, 
where  he  stumbled  on  Ira  Lathrop  and  Anne  Gat- 
tie,  engaged  in  a  conversation  of  evident  intimacy, 
for  they  jumped  when  he  opened  the  door,  as  if  they 
were  guilty  of  some  plot. 

Mallory  mumbled  his  usual,  "Excuse  me," 
whirled  on  his  heel,  and  dragged  his  discouraged 
steps  back  through  the  Observation  Room,  where 
various  women  and  a  few  men  of  evident  unclerical- 
ity  were  draped  across  arm  chairs  and  absorbed  in 
lazy  conversation  or  bobbing  their  heads  over  maga- 
zines that  trembled  with  the  motion  of  the  train. 

Mrs.  Wellington  was  busily  writing  at  the  desk, 
but  he  did  not  know  who  she  was,  and  he  did  not 
care  whom  she  was  writing  to.  He  did  not  observe 
the  baleful  glare  of  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  who  sat  watch- 
ing Mrs.  Wellington,  knowing  all  too  well  who  she 
was,  and  suspecting  the  correspondent — Mrs.  Whit- 
comb  was  tempted  to  spell  the  word  with  one  "r." 

Mallory  stumbled  into  the  men's  portion  of  the 


LAST  CALL  FOR  BREAKFAST    127 

composite  car.  Here  he  nodded  with  a  sickly  cheer 
to  the  sole  occupant,  Dr.  Temple,  who  was  looking 
less  ministerial  than  ever  in  an  embroidered  skull 
cap.  The  old  rascal  was  sitting  far  back  on  his  lum- 
bar vertebras.  One  of  his  hands  clasped  a  long  glass 
filled  with  a  liquid  of  a  hue  that  resembled  something 
stronger  than  what  it  was — mere  ginger  ale.  The 
other  hand  toyed  with  a  long  black  cigar.  The 
smoke  curled  round  the  old  man's  head  like  the 
fumes  of  a  sultan's  narghile,  and  through  the  wisps 
his  face  was  one  of  Oriental  luxury. 

Mallory's  eyes  were  caught  from  this  picture  of 
beatitude  by  the  entrance,  at  the  other  door,  of  a 
man  who  had  evidently  swung  aboard  at  the  most 
recent  stop — for  Mallory  had  not  seen  him.  His 
gray  hair  was  crowned  with  a  soft  black  hat,  and 
his  spare  frame  was  swathed  in  a  frock  coat  that 
had  seen  better  days.  His  soft  gray  eyes  seemed 
to  search  timidly  the  smoke-clouded  atmosphere,  and 
he  had  a  bashful  air  which  Mallory  translated  as 
one  of  diffidence  in  a  place  where  liquors  and  cigars 
were  dispensed. 

With  equal  diffidence  Mallory  advanced,  and  in 
a  low  tone  accosted  the  newcomer  cautiously: 

"Excuse  me — you  look  like  a  clergyman. " 

"The  hell  you  say!" 

Mallory  pursued  the  question  no  further. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  THE   COMPOSITE  CAR 

IT  was  the  gentle  stranger's  turn  to  miss  his  guess. 
He  bent  over  the  chair  into  which  Mallory  had 
flopped,  and  said  in  a  tense,  low  tone:  "You  look 
like  a  thoroughbred  sport.  I'm  trying  to  make  up 
a  game  of  stud  poker.  Will  you  join  me?" 

Mallory  shook  his  heavy  head  in  refusal,  and  with 
dull  eyes  watched  the  man,  whose  profession  he  no 
longer  misunderstood,  saunter  up  to  the  blissful  Doc- 
tor from  Ypsilanti,  and  murmur  again: 

"Will  you  join  me?" 

"Join  you  in  what,  sir?"  said  Dr.  Temple,  with 
alert  courtesy. 

"A  little  game." 

"I  don't  mind,"  the  doctor  smiled,  rising  with 
amiable  readiness.  "The  checkers  are  in  the  next 
room." 

"Quit  your  kiddin',"  the  stranger  coughed.  "How 
about  a  little  freeze-out?" 

"Freeze-out?"  said  Dr.  Temple.  "It  sounds  in- 
teresting. Is  it  something  like  authors?" 

The  newcomer  shot  a  quick  glance  at  this  man, 
whose  innocent  air  he  suspected.  But  he  merely 
drawled:  "Well,  you  play  it  with  cards." 

128 


IN  THE  COMPOSITE  CAR  129 

"Would  you  mind  teaching  me  the  rules?"  said 
the  old  sport  from  Ypsilanti. 

The  gambler  was  growing  suspicious  of  this  too, 
too  childlike  innocence.  He  whined:  "Say,  what's 
your  little  game,  eh?"  but  decided  to  risk  the  ven- 
ture. He  sat  down  at  a  table,  and  Dr.  Temple, 
bringing  along  his  glass,  drew  up  a  chair.  The 
gambler  took  a  pack  of  cards  from  his  pocket,  and 
shuffled  them  with  a  snap  that  startled  Dr.  Temple 
and  a  dexterity  that  delighted  him. 

"Go  on,  it's  beautiful  to  see,"  he  exclaimed.  The 
gambler  set  the  pack  down  with  the  one  word  "Cut !" 
but  since  the  old  man  made  no  effort  to  comply,  the 
gambler  did  not  insist.  He  took  up  the  pack  again 
and  ran  off  five  cards  to  each  place  with  a  grace 
that  staggered  the  doctor. 

Mallory  was  about  to  intervene  for  the  protection 
of  the  guileless  physician  when  the  conductor 
chanced  to  saunter  in. 

The  gambler,  seeing  him,  snatched  Dr.  Temple's 
cards  from  his  hand  and  slipped  the  pack  into  his 
pocket. 

"What's  the  matter  now?"  Dr.  Temple  asked,  but 
the  newcomer  huskily  answered:  "Wait  a  minute. 
Wait  a  minute." 

The  conductor  took  in  the  scene  at  a  glance  and, 
stalking  up  to  the  table,  spoke  with  the  grimness  of 
a  sea-captain:  "Say,  I've  got  my  eye  on  you.  Don't 
start  nothin1." 


130  EXCUSE  ME! 

The  stranger  stared  at  him  wonderingly  and  de- 
manded: "Why,  what  you  drivin'  at?" 

"You  know  all  right,"  the  conductor  growled,  and 
then  turned  on  the  befuddled  old  clergyman,  "and 
you,  too." 

"Me,  too?"  the  preacher  gasped. 

"Yes,  you,  too,"  the  conductor  repeated,  shaking 
an  accusing  forefinger  under  his  nose.  "Your  ac- 
tions have  been  suspicious  from  the  beginning. 
We've  all  been  watching  you." 

Dr.  Temple  was  so  agitated  that  he  nearly  let 
fall  his  secret.  "Why,  do  you  realize  that  I'm 


"Ah,  don't  start  that,"  sneered  the  conductor,  "I 
can  spot  a  gambler  as  far  as  I  can  see  one.  You 
and  your  side  partner  here  want  to  look  out,  that's 
all,  or  I'll  drop  you  at  the  next  tank."  Then  he 
walked  out,  his  very  shoulder  blades  uttering 
threats. 

Dr.  Temple  stared  after  him,  but  the  gambler 
stared  at  Dr.  Temple  with  a  mingling  of  accusation 
and  of  homage.  "So  you're  one  of  us,"  he  said,  and 
seizing  the  old  man's  limp  hand,  shook  it  heartily:  "I 
got  to  slip  it  to  you.  Your  make-up  is  great.  You 
nearly  had  me  for  a  come-on.  Great!" 

And  then  he  sauntered  out,  leaving  the  clergy- 
man's head  swimming.  Dr.  Temple  turned  to  Mai- 
lory  for  explanations,  but  Mallory  only  waved  him 
away.  He  was  not  quite  convinced  himself.  He 


IN  THE  COMPOSITE  CAR  131 

was  convinced  only  that  whatever  else  anybody 
might  be,  nobody  apparently  desired  to  be  a  clergy- 
man in  these  degenerate  days. 

The  conductor  returned  and  threw  into  Dr. 
Temple  the  glare  of  two  basilisk  eyes.  The  old  man 
put  out  a  beseeching  hand  and  began: 

"My  good  man,  you  do  me  a  grave  injustice." 

The  conductor  snapped  back:  "You  say  a  word 
to  me  and  I'll  do  you  worse  than  that.  And  if  I 
spot  you  with  a  pack  of  cards  in  your  hand  again, 
I'll  tie  you  to  the  cow-ketcher." 

Then  he  marched  off  again.  The  doctor  fell  back 
into  a  chair,  trying  to  figure  it  out.  Then  Ashton 
and  Fosdick  and  little  Jimmie  Wellington  and 
Wedgewood  strolled  in  and,  dropping  into  chairs, 
ordered  drinks.  Before  the  doctor  could  ask  any- 
body to  explain,  Aahton  was  launched  on  a  story. 
Kis  mind  was  a  suitcase  full  of  anecdotes,  mostly 
of  the  smoking-room  order. 

Wherever  three  or  four  men  are  gathered  to- 
gether, they  rapidly  organize  a  clearing-house  of 
off-color  stories.  The  doctor  listened  in  spite  of 
himself,  and  in  spite  of  himself  he  was  amused,  for 
stories  that  would  be  stupid  if  they  were  decent,  take 
on  a  certain  verve  and  thrill  from  their  very  for- 
biddenness. 

The  dear  old  clergyman  felt  that  it  would  be 
priggish  to  take  flight,  but  he  could  not  make  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  behave.  Strange  twitchings 


132  EXCUSE  ME! 

of  the  lips  and  little  steamy  escapes  of  giggle-jets 
disturbed  him.  And  when  Ashton,  who  was  a  prac- 
ticed raconteur,  finished  a  drolatic  adventure  with 
the  epilogue,  "And  the  next  morning  they  were  at 
Niagara  Falls,"  the  old  doctor  was  helpless  with 
laughter.  Some  superior  force,  a  devil  no  doubt, 
fairly  shook  him  with  glee. 

"Oh,  that's  bully,"  he  shrieked,  "I  haven't  heard 
a  story  like  that  for  ages." 

"Why,  where  have  you  been,  Dr.  Temple?"  asked 
Ashton,  who  could  not  imagine  where  a  man  could 
have  concealed  himself  from  such  stories.  But  he 
laughed  loudest  of  all  when  the  doctor  answered: 
"You  see,  I  live  in  Ypsilanti.  They  don't  tell  me 
stories  like  that." 

"They — who?"  said  Fosdick. 

"Why,  my  pa — my  patients,"  the  doctor  explained, 
and  laughed  so  hard  that  he  forgot  to  feel  guilty, 
laughed  so  hard  that  his  wife  in  the  next  room 
heard  him  and  giggled  to  Mrs.  Whitcomb: 

"Listen  to  dear  Walter.  He  hasn't  laughed  like 
that  since  he  was  a — a  medical  student."  Then  she 
buried  her  face  guiltily  in  a  book. 

"Wasn't  it  good?"  Dr.  Temple  demanded,  wiping 
his  streaming  eyes  and  nudging  the  solemn-faced 
Englishman,  who  understood  his  own  nation's  hu- 
mor, but  had  not  yet  learned  the  Yankee  quirks. 

Wedgewood  made  a  hollow  effort  at  laughter  and 
answered:  "Extremely — very  droll,  but  what  I 


IN  THE  COMPOSITE  CAR  133 

don't  quite  get  was — why  the  porter  said "  The 

others  drowned  him  in  a  roar  of  laughter,  but  Ash- 
ton  was  angry.  "Why,  you  blamed  fool,  that's 
where  the  joke  came  in.  Don't  you  see,  the  bride- 
groom said  to  the  bride "  then  he  lowered  his 

voice  and  diagrammed  the  story  on  his  fingers. 

Mrs.  Temple  was  still  shaking  with  sympathetic 
laughter,  never  dreaming  what  her  husband  was 
laughing  at.  She  turned  to  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  but 
Mrs.  Whitcomb  was  still  glaring  at  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton, who  was  still  writing  with  flying  fingers  and 
underscoring  every  other  word. 

"Some  people  seem  to  think  they  own  the  train," 
Mrs.  Whitcomb  raged.  "That  creature  has  been  at 
the  writing  desk  an  hour.  The  worst  of  it  is,  I'm 
sure  she's  writing  to  my  husband." 

Mrs.  Temple  looked  shocked,  but  another  peal 
of  laughter  came  through  the  partition  between  the 
male  and  female  sections  of  the  car,  and  she  beamed 
again.  Then  Mrs.  Wellington  finished  her  letter, 
glanced  it  over,  addressed  an  envelope,  sealed  and 
stamped  it  with  a  deliberation  that  maddened  Mrs. 
Whitcomb.  When  at  last  she  rose,  Mrs.  Whitcomb 
was  in  the  seat  almost  before  Mrs.  Wellington  was 
out  of  it. 

Mrs.  Wellington  paused  at  another  wave  of 
laughter  from  the  men's  room.  She  commented 
petulantly: 

"What  good  times  men  have.     They've  formed 


134  EXCUSE  ME! 

a  club  in  there  already.  We  women  can  only  sit 
around  and  hate  each  other." 

"Why,  I  don't  hate  anybody,  do  you?"  Mrs. 
Temple  exclaimed,  looking  up  from  the  novel  she 
had  found  on  the  book  shelves.  Mrs.  Wellington 
dropped  into  the  next  chair: 

"On  a  long  railroad  journey  I  hate  everybody. 
Don't  you  hate  long  journeys?" 

"It's  the  first  I  ever  took,"  Mrs.  Temple  apolo- 
gized, radiantly,  "And  I'm  having  the — what  my 
oldest  boy  would  call  the  time  of  my  life.  And 
dear  Walter — such  goings  on  for  him !  A  few  min- 
utes ago  I  strolled  by  the  door  and  I  saw  him  play- 
ing cards  with  a  stranger,  and  smoking  and  drink- 
ing, too,  all  at  once." 

"Boys  will  be  boys,"  said  Mrs.  Wellington. 

"But  for  Dr.  Temple  of  all  people " 

"Why  shouldn't  a  doctor?  It's  a  shame  the  way 
men  have  everything.  Think  of  it,  a  special  smok- 
ing room.  And  women  have  no  place  to  take  a  puf 
except  on  the  sly." 

Mrs.  Temple  stared  at  her  in  awe:  "The  woman 
in  this  book  smokes! — perfumed  things!" 

"All  women  smoke  nowadays,"  said  Mrs.  Wel- 
lington, carelessly.  "Don't  you?" 

The  politest  thing  Mrs.  Temple  could  think  of 
in  answer  was :  "Not  yet." 

"Really!"  said  Mrs.  Wellington,  "Don't  you  like 
tobacco  ?" 


IN  THE  COMPOSITE  CAR  13* 

"I  never  tried  it." 

"It's  time  you  did.     I  smoke  cigars  myself." 

Mrs.  Temple  almost  collapsed  at  this  double 
shock:  "Ci— cigars?" 

"Yes;  cigarettes  are  too  strong  for  me;  will  you 
try  one  of  my  pets?" 

Mrs.  Temple  was  about  to  express  her  repugnance 
at  the  thought,  but  Mrs.  Wellington  thrust  before 
her  a  portfolio  in  which  nestled  such  dainty  shapes 
of  such  a  warm  and  winsome  brown,  that  Mrs. 
Temple  paused  to  stare,  and,  like  Mother  Eve, 
found  the  fruit  of  knowledge  too  interesting  once 
seen  to  reject  with  scorn.  She  hung  over  the  cigar 
case  in  hesitant  excitement  one  moment  too  long. 
Then  she  said  in  a  trembling  voice:  "I — I  should 
like  to  try  once — just  to  see  what  it's  like.  But 
there's  no  place." 

Mrs.  Wellington  felt  that  she  had  already  made 
a  proselyte  to  her  own  beloved  vice,  and  she  rushed 
her  victim  to  the  precipice:  "There's  the  observa- 
tion platform,  my  dear.  Come  on  out." 

Mrs.  Temple  was  shivering  with  dismay  at  the 
dreadful  deed:  "What  would  they  say  in  Ypsi- 
lanti?" 

"What  do  you  care?  Be  a  sport.  Your  husband 
smokes.  If  it's  right  for  him,  why  not  for  you?" 

Mrs.  Temple  set  her  teeth  and  crossed  the  Rubi- 
con with  a  resolute  "I  will !" 

Mrs.  Wellington  led  the  timid  neophyte  along 


136  EXCUSE  ME! 

the  wavering  floor  of  the  car  and  flung  back  the  door 
of  the  observation  car.  She  found  Ira  Lathrop 
holding  Anne  Cattle's  hand  and  evidently  explain- 
ing something  of  great  importance,  for  their  heads 
were  'close  together.  They  rose  and  with  abashed 
faces  and  confused  mumblings  of  half  swallowed 
explanations,  left  the  platform  to  Mrs.  Wellington 
and  her  new  pupil. 

Shortly  afterward  Little  Jimmie  Wellington  grew 
restive  and  set  out  for  a  brief  constitutional  and  a 
breath  of  air.  He  carried  a  siphon  to  which  he  had 
become  greatly  attached,  and  made  heavy  going  of 
the  observation  room,  but  reached  the  door  in 
fairly  good  order.  He  swung  it  open  and  brought 
in  with  it  the  pale  and  wavering  ghost  of  Mrs. 
Temple,  who  had  been  leaning  against  it  for  much- 
needed  support.  Wellington  was  stupefied  to  ob- 
serve smoke  pouring  round  Mrs.  Temple's  form, 
and  he  resolved  to  perform  a  great  life-saving  feat. 
He  decided  that  the  poor  little  woman  was  on  fire 
and  he  poised  the  siphon  like  a  fire  extinguisher, 
with  the  noble  intention  of  putting  her  out. 

He  pressed  the  handle,  and  a  stream  of  vichy  shot 
from  the  nozzle. 

Fortunately,  his  aim  was  so  very  wobbly  that  none 
of  the  extinguisher  touched  Mrs.  Temple. 

Wellington  was  about  to  play  the  siphon  at  her 
again  when  he  saw  her  take  from  her  lips  a  toy 
cigar  and  emit  a  stream  of  cough-shaken  smoke. 


IN  THE  COMPOSITE  CAR  137 

The  poor  little  experimentalist  was  too  wretched  to 
notice  even  so  large  a  menace  as  Wellington.  She 
threw  the  cigar  away  and  gasped: 

"I  think  I've  had  enough." 

From  the  platform  came  a  voice  verv  well  known 
to  Little  Jimmie.  It  said:  "You'll  like  the  second 
one  better." 

Mrs.  Temple  shuddered  at  the  thought,  but  Wel- 
lington drew  himself  up  majestically  and  called 
out: 

"Like  second  one  better,  eh?  I  suppozhe  it's  the 
same  way  with  husbandsh." 

Then  he  stalked  back  to  the  smoking  room,  feel- 
ing that  he  had  annihilated  his  wife,  but  knowing 
from  experience  that  she  always  had  a  come-back. 
He  knew  it  would  be  good,  but  he  was  afraid  to 
hear  it.  He  rolled  into  the  smoking  room,  and 
sprawling  across  Doctor  Temple's  shoulders, 
dragged  him  from  the  midst  of  a  highly  improper 
story  with  alarming  news. 

"Doc.,  your  wife  looks  kind  o'  seedy.  Better  go 
to  her  at  once." 

Dr.  Temple  leaped  to  his  feet  and  ran  to  his 
wife's  aid.  He  found  her  a  dismal,  ashen  sight. 

"Sally!    What  on  earth  ails  you?" 

"Been  smok-oking,"  she  hiccoughed. 

The  world  seemed  to  be  crashing  round  Dr. 
Temple's  head.  He  could  only  gurgle,  "Sally!" 

Mrs.  Temple  drew  herself  up  with  weak  defi- 


138  EXCUSE  ME! 

ance:     "Well,  I  saw  you  playing  cards  and  drink- 


ing." 


In  the  presence  of  such  innocent  deviltry  he  could 
only  smile:  "Aren't  we  having  an  exciting  vaca- 
tion? But  to  think  of  you  smoking! — and  a  cigar!" 
.  She  tossed  her  head  in  pride.  "And  it  didn't 
make  me  sick — much."  She  clutched  a  chair.  He 
tried  to  support  her.  He  could  not  help  pondering: 
"What  would  they  say  in  Yp-hip-silanti  ?" 

"Who  cares?"  she  laughed.  "I— I  wish  the  old 
train  wouldn't  rock  so." 

"I — I've  smoked  too  much,  too,"  said  Dr.  Temple 
with  perfect  truth,  but  Mrs.  Temple,  remembering 
that  long  glass  she  had  seen,  narrowed  her  eyes  at 
him:  "Are  you  sure  it  was  the  smoke?" 

"Sally!"  he  cried,  in  abject  horror  at  her  implied 
suspicion. 

Then  she  turned  a  pale  green.  "Oh,  I  feel  such 
a  qualm." 

"In  your  conscience,  Sally?" 

"No,  not  in  my  conscience.  I  think  I'll  go  back 
to  my  berth  and  lie  down." 

"Let  me  help  you,  Mother." 

And  Darby  and  Joan  hurried  along  the  corridor, 
crowding  it  as  they  were  crowding  their  vacation 
with  belated  experience. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

FOILED! 

IT  was  late  in  the  forenoon  before  the  train  came 
to  the  end  of  its  iron  furrow  across  that  fertile 
space  between  two  of  the  world's  greatest  rivers, 
which  the  Indians  called  "Iowa,"  nobody  knows  ex- 
actly why.  In  contrast  with  the  palisades  of  the 
Mississippi,  the  Missouri  twists  like  a  great  brown 
dragon  wallowing  in  congenial  mud.  The  water  it- 
self, as  Bob  Brudette  said,  is  so  muddy  that  the 
wind  blowing  across  it  raises  a  cloud  of  dust. 

A  sonorous  bridge  led  the  way  into  Nebraska, 
and  the  train  came  to  a  halt  at  Omaha.  Mallory 
and  Marjorie  got  out  to  stretch  their  legs  and  their 
dog.  If  they  had  only  known  that  the  train  was 
to  stop  there  the  quarter  of  an  hour,  and  if  they 
had  only  known  some  preacher  there  and  had  had 
him  to  the  station,  the  ceremony  could  have  been 
consummated  then  and  there. 

The  horizon  was  fairly  saw-toothed  with  church 
spires.  There  were  preachers,  preachers  every- 
where, and  not  a  dominie  to  do  their  deed. 

After  they  had  strolled  up  and  down  the  platform, 
139 


140  EXCUSE  ME! 

and  up  and  down,  and  up  and  down  till  they  were 
fain  of  their  cramped  quarters  again,  Marjorie  sud- 
denly dug  her  nails  into  Mallory's  arm. 

"Honey!  look!— look!" 

Honey  looked,  and  there  before  their  very  eyes 
stood  as  clerical  a  looking  person  as  ever  announced 
a  strawberry  festival. 

Mallory  stared  and  stared,  till  Marjorie  said: 

"Don't  you  see?  stupid!  it's  a  preacher!  a 
preacher!" 

"It  looks  like  one,"  was  as  far  as  Mallory  would 
commit  himself,  and  he  was  turning  away.  He 
had  about  come  to  the  belief  that  anything  that 
looked  like  a  parson  was  something  else.  But  Mar- 
jorie whirled  him  round  again,  with  a  shrill  whisper 
to  listen.  And  he  overheard  in  tones  addicted  to 
the  pulpit: 

"Yes,  deacon,  I  trust  that  the  harvest  will  be 
plentiful  at  my  new  church.  It  grieves  me  to  leave 
the  dear  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  Lord  in  Omaha, 
but  I  felt  called  to  wider  pastures." 

And  a  lady  who  was  evidently  Mrs.  Deacon 
spoke  up: 

"We'll  miss  you  terrible.  We  all  say  you  are  the 
best  pastor  our  church  ever  had." 

Mallory  prepared  to  spring  on  his  prey  and  drag 
him  to  his  lair,  but  Marjorie  held  him  back. 

"He's  taking  our  train,  Lord  bless  his  dear  old 
soul." 


FOILED!  141 

And  Mallory  could  have  hugged  him.  But  he 
kept  close  watch.  To  the  rapture  of  the  wedding- 
hungry  twain,  the  preacher  shook  hands  with  such 
of  his  flock  as  had  followed  him  to  the  station, 
picked  up  his  valise  and  walked  up  to  the  porter, 
extending  his  ticket. 

But  the  porter  said — and  Mallory  could  have 
throttled  him  for  saying  it: 

"  'Scuse  me,  posson,  but  that's  yo'  train  ova 
yonda.  You  betta  move  right  smaht,  for  it's  gettin' 
ready  to  pull  out." 

With  a  little  shriek  of  dismay,  the  parson  clutched 
his  valise  and  set  off  at  a  run.  Mallory  dashed  after 
him  and  Marjorie  after  Mallory.  They  shouted  as 
they  ran,  but  the  conductor  of  the  east-bound  train 
sang  out  "All  aboard!"  and  swung  on. 

The  parson  made  a  sprint  and  caught  the  ultimate 
rail  of  the  moving  train.  Mallory  made  a  frantic 
leap  at  a  flying  coat-tail  and  missed.  As  he  and 
Marjorie  stood  gazing  reproachfully  at  the  train 
which  was  giving  a  beautiful  illustration  of  the  laws 
of  retreating  perspective,  they  heard  wild  howls  of 
"Hi!  hi!"  and  "Hay!  hay!"  and  turned  to  see  their 
own  train  in  motion,  and  the  porter  dancing  a  Zulu 
step  alongside. 


CHAPTER  XX 

FOILED  AGAIN 

MALLORY  tucked  Marjorie  under  his  arm  and 
IWarjorie  tucked  Snoozleums  under  hers,  and  they  did 
a  sort  of  three-legged  race  down  the  platform.  The 
porter  was  pale  blue  with  excitement,  and  it  was 
with  the  last  gasp  of  breath  in  all  three  bodies  that 
they  scrambled  up  the  steps  of  the  only  open  vesti- 
bule. 

The  porter  was  mad  enough  to  give  them  a  piece 
of  his  mind,  and  they  were  meek  enough  to  take 
it  without  a  word  of  explanation  or  resentment. 

And  the  train  sped  on  into  the  heart  of  Nebraska, 
along  the  unpoetic  valley  of  the  Platte.  When  lunch- 
time  came,  they  ate  it  together,  but  in  gloomy  silence. 
They  sat  in  Marjorie's  berth  throughout  the  appal- 
lingly monotonous  afternoon  in  a  stupor  of  disap- 
pointment and  helpless  dejection,  speaking  little  and 
saying  nothing  then. 

Whenever  the  train  stopped,  Mallory  watched  the 
on-getting  passengers  with  his  keenest  eye.  He  had 
a  theory  that  since  most  people  who  looked  like 
preachers  were  decidedly  lay,  it  might  be  well  to  take 

142 


FOILED  AGAIN!  143 

a  gambler's  chance  and  accost  the  least  ministerial 
person  next. 

So,  in  his  frantic  anxiety,  he  selected  a  horsey- 
looking  individual  who  got  on  at  North  Platte.  He 
looked  so  much  like  a  rawhided  ranchman  that  Mai- 
lory  stole  up  on  him  and  asked  him  to  excuse  him, 
but  did  he  happen  to  be  a  clergyman?  The  man 
replied  by  asking  Mallory  if  he  happened  to  be  a 
flea-bitten  maverick,  and  embellished  his  question 
with  a  copious  flow  of  the  words  ministers  use,  but 
with  a  secular  arrangement  of  them.  In  fact  he 
split  one  word  in  two  to  insert  a  double-barrelled 
curse.  All  that  Mallory  could  do  was  to  admit 
that  he  was  a  flea-bitten  what-he-said,  and  back 
away. 

After  that,  if  a  vicar  in  full  uniform  had  marched 
down  the  aisle  heading  a  procession  of  choir-boys, 
Mallory  would  have  suspected  him.  He  vowed  in 
his  haste  that  Marjorie  might  die  an  old  maid  be- 
fore he  would  approach  anybody  else  on  that  sub- 
ject. 

Nebraska  would  have  been  a  nice  long  state  for  a 
honeymoon,  but  its  four  hundred-odd  miles  were 
a  dreary  length  for  the  couple  so  near  and  yet  so 
far.  The  railroad  clinging  to  the  meandering  Platte 
made  the  way  far  longer,  and  Mallory  and  Marjorie 
felt  like  Pyramus  and  Thisbe  wandering  along  an 
eternal  wall,  through  which  they  could  see,  but  not 
reach,  one  another. 


144  EXCUSE  ME! 

They  dined  together  as  dolefully  as  if  they  had 
been  married  for  forty  years.  Then  the  slow  twi- 
light soaked  them  in  its  melancholy.  The  porter 
lighted  up  the  car,  and  the  angels  lighted  up  the 
stars,  but  nothing  lighted  up  their  hopes. 

"We've  got  to  quarrel  again,  my  beloved,"  Mai- 
lory  groaned  to  Marjorie. 

Somehow  they  were  too  dreary  even  to  nag  one 
another  with  an  outburst  for  the  benefit  of  the  eager- 
eyed  passengers. 

A  little  excitement  bestirred  them  as  they  realized 
that  they  were  confronted  with  another  night-robe- 
less  night  and  a  morrow  without  change  of  gear. 

"What  a  pity  that  we  left  our  things  in  the  taxi- 
cab,"  Marjorie  sighed.  And  this  time  she  said,  "we 
left  them,"  instead  of  "you  left  them."  It  was 
very  gracious  of  her,  but  Mallory  did  not  acknowl- 
edge the  courtesy.  Instead  he  gave  a  start  and  a 
gasp: 

"Good  Lord,  Marjorie,  we  never  paid  the  second 
taxicab !" 

"Great  heavens,  how  shall  we  ever  pay  him?  He's 
been  waiting  there  twenty-four  hours.  How  much 
do  you  suppose  we  owe  him?" 

"About  a  year  of  my  pay,  I  guess." 

"You  must  send  him  a  telegram  of  apology  and 
ask  him  to  read  his  meter.  He  was  such  a  nice  man 
— the  kindest  eyes — for  a  chauffeur." 

"But  how  can  I  telegraph  him?     I  don't  know 


FOILED  AGAIN!  145 

his  name,  or  his  number,  or  his  company,  or  any- 
thing." 

"It's  too  bad.  He'll  go  through  life  hating  us 
and  thinking  we  cheated  him." 

"Well,  he  doesn't  know  our  names  either." 

And  then  they  forgot  him  temporarily  for  the 
more  immediate  need  of  clothes.  All  the  passengers 
knew  that  they  had  left  behind  what  baggage  they 
had  not  sent  ahead,  and  much  sympathy  had  been 
expressed.  But  most  people  would  rather  give  you 
their  sympathy  than  lend  you  their  clothes.  Mallory 
did  not  mind  the  men,  but  Marjorie  dreaded  the 
women.  She  was  afraid  of  all  of  them  but  Mrs. 
Temple. 

She  threw  herself  on  the  little  lady's  mercy  and 
was  asked  to  help  herself.  She  borrowed  a  night- 
gown of  extraordinary  simplicity,  a  shirt  waist  of  an 
ancient  mode,  and  a  number  of  other  things. 

If  there  had  been  anyone  there  to  see  she  would 
have  made  a  most  anachronistic  bride. 

Mallory  canvassed  the  men  and  obtained  a  shock- 
ingly purple  shirt  from  Wedgewood,  who  meant  to 
put  him  at  his  ease,  but  somehow  failed  when  he 
said  in  answer  to  Mallory's  thanks : 

"God  bless  my  soul,  old  top,  don't  you  think  of 
thanking  me.  I  ought  to  thank  you.  You  see,  the 
idiot  who  makes  my  shirts,  made  that  by  mistake, 
and  IM  be  no  end  grateful  if  you'd  jolly  well  take 
the  loathsome  thing  off  my  hands.  I  mean  to  say, 


146  EXCUSE  ME! 

I  shouldn't  dream  of  being  seen  in  it  myself.  You 
quite  understand,  don't  you?" 

Ashton  contributed  a  maroon  atrocity  in  hosiery, 
with  equal  tact: 

"If  they  fit  you,  keep  'em.  I  got  stung  on  that 
batch  of  socks.  That  pair  was  originally  lavender, 
but  they  washed  like  that.  Keep  'em.  I  wouldn't 
be  found  dead  in  'em." 

The  mysterious  Fosdick,  who  lived  a  lonely  life 
in  the  Observation  car  and  slept  in  the  other  sleeper, 
lent  Mallory  a  pair  of  pyjamas  evidently  intended 
for  a  bridegroom  of  romantic  disposition.  Mallory 
blushed  as  he  accepted  them  and  when  he  found 
himself  in  them,  he  whisked  out  the  light,  he  was 
so  ashamed  of  himself. 

Once  more  the  whole  car  gaped  at  the  unheard  of 
behavior  of  its  newly  wedded  pair.  The  poor  porter 
had  been  hungry  for  a  bridal  couple,  but  as  he  went 
about  gathering  up  the  cast-off  footwear  of  his  large 
family  and  found  Mallory's  big  shoes  at  number 
three  and  Marjorie's  tiny  boots  at  number  five,  he 
shook  his  head  and  groaned. 

"Times  has  suttainly  changed  for  the  wuss.  If 
this  is  a  bridal  couple,  gimme  divorcees." 


CHAPTER  XXI 

MATRIMONY  TO  AND  FRO 

AND  the  next  morning  they  were  in  Wyoming — 
well  toward  the  center  of  that  State.  They  had 
left  behind  the  tame  levels  and  the  truly  rural  towns 
and  they  were  among  foothills  and  mountains,  pass- 
ing cities  of  wildly  picturesque  repute,  like  Chey- 
enne, and  Laramie,  Bowie,  and  Medicine  Bow,  and 
Bitter  Creek,  whose  very  names  imply  literature  and 
war  whoops,  cow-boy  yelps,  barking  revolvers,  an- 
other redskin  biting  the  dust,  cattle  stampedes,  town- 
paintings,  humorous  lynchings  and  bronchos  in  epi- 
leptic frenzy. 

But  the  talk  of  this  train  was  concerned  with  none 
of  these  wonders,  which  the  novelists  and  the  maga- 
zinist  have  perhaps  a  trifle  overpublished.  The  talk 
of  this  train  was  concerned  with  the  eighth  wonder 
of  the  world,  a  semi-detached  bridal  couple. 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  was  eager  enough  to  voice  the 
sentiment  of  the  whole  populace,  when  she  looked 
up  from  her  novel  in  the  observation  room  and, 
nudging  Mrs.  Temple,  drawled:  "By  the  way,  my 
dear,  has  that  bridal  couple  made  up  its  second 
night's  quarrel  yet?" 

147 


148  EXCUSE  ME! 

"The  Mallorys?"  Mrs.  Temple  flushed  as  she 
answered,  mercifully.  "Oh,  yes,  they  were  very 
friendly  again  this  morning." 

Mrs.  Whitcomb's  countenance  was  cynical:  "My 
dear,  I've  been  married  twice  and  I  ought  to  know 
something  about  honeymoons,  but  this  honeyless 

honeymoon "  she  cast  up  her  eyes  and  her  hands 

in  despair. 

The  women  were  so  concerned  about  Mr.  and 
"Mrs."  Mallory,  that  they  hardly  noticed  the  un- 
comfortable plight  of  the  Wellingtons,  or  the 
curious  behavior  of  the  lady  from  the  stateroom  who 
seemed  to  be  afraid  of  something  and  never  spoke 
to  anybody.  The  strange  behavior  of  Anne  Gattle 
and  Ira  Lathrop  even  escaped  much  comment, 
though  they  were  forever  being  stumbled  on  when 
anybody  went  out  to  the  observation  platform. 
When  they  were  dislodged  from  there,  they  sat  play- 
ing checkers  and  talking  very  little,  but  making  eyes 
at  one  another  and  sighing  like  furnaces. 

They  had  evidently  concocted  some  secret  of  their 
own,  for  Ira,  looking  at  his  watch,  murmured  senti- 
mentally to  Anne:  "Only  a  few  hours  more,  An- 
nie." 

And  Anne  turned  geranium-color  and  dropped  a 
handful  of  checkers.  "I  don't  know  how  I  can 
face  it." 

Ira  groy/led  like  a  lovesick  lion:  "Aw,  what  do 
you  care?" 


MATRIMONY  TO  AND  FRO  149 

"But  I  was  never  married  before,  Ira,"  Anne 
protested,  "and  on  a  train,  too." 

"Why,  all  the  bridal  couples  take  to  the  rail- 
roads." 

"I  should  think  it  would  be  the  last  place  they'd 
go,"  said  Anne — a  sensible  woman,  Anne!  "Look 
at  the  Mallories — how  miserable  they  are." 

"I  thought  they  were  happy,"  said  Ira,  whose 
great  virtue  it  was  to  pay  little  heed  to  what  was 
none  of  his  business. 

"Oh,  Ira,"  cried  Anne,  "I  hope  we  shan't  begin 
to  quarrel  as  soon  as  we  are  married." 

"As  if  anybody  could  quarrel  with  you,  Anne," 
he  said. 

"Do  you  think  I'll  be  so  monotonous  as  that?" 
she  retorted. 

Her  spunk  delighted  him  beyond  words.  He 
whispered:  "Anne,  you're  so  gol-darned  sweet  if 
I  don't  get  a  chance  to  kiss  you,  I'll  bust." 

"Why,  Ira — we're  on  the  train." 

"Da — darn  the  train!  Who  ever  heard  of  a  fel- 
low proposing  and  getting  engaged  to  a  girl  and  not 
even  kissing  her." 

"But  our  engagement  is  so  short." 

"Well,  I'm  not  going  to  marry  you  till  I  get  a 
kiss." 

Perhaps  innocent  old  Anne  really  believed  this 
blood-curdling  threat.  It  brought  her  instantly  to 


150  EXCUSE  ME! 

terms,  though  she  blushed:  "But  everybody's  always 
looking." 

"Come  out  on  the  observation  platform." 

"Oh,  Ira,  again?" 

"I  dare  you." 

"I  take  you — but"  seeing  that  Mrs.  Whitcomb 
was  trying  to  overhear,  she  whispered:  "let's  pre- 
tend it's  the  scenery." 

So  Ira  rose,  pushed  the  checkers  aside,  and  said 
in  an  unusually  positive  tone:  "Ah,  Miss  Gattle, 
won't  you  have  a  look  at  the  landscape?" 

"Oh,  thank  you,  Mr.  Lathrop,"  said  Anne,  "I 
just  love  scenery." 

They  wandered  forth  like  the  Sleeping  Beauty 
and  her  princely  awakener,  and  never  dreamed  what 
gigglings  and  nudgings  and  wise  head-noddings 
went  on  back  of  them.  Mrs.  Wellington  laughed 
loudest  of  all  at  the  lovers  whose  heads  had  grown 
gray  while  their  hearts  were  still  so  green. 

It  was  shortly  after  this  that  the  Wellingtons 
themselves  came  into  prominence  in  the  train  life. 

As  the  train  approached  Green  River,  and  its 
copper-basined  stream,  the  engineer  began  to  set  the 
air-brakes  for  the  stop.  Jimmie  Wellington,  boozily 
half-awake  in  the  smoking  room,  wanted  to  know 
what  the  name  of  the  station  was.  Everybody  is 
always  eager  to  oblige  a  drunken  man,  so  Ashton 
and  Fosdick  tried  to  get  a  window  open  to  look 
out. 


MATRIMONY  TO  AND  FRO  151 

The  first  one  they  labored  at,  they  could  not 
budge  after  a  biceps-breaking  tug.  The  second  flew 
up  with  such  ease  that  they  went  over  backward. 
Ashton  put  his  head  out  and  announced  that  the 
approaching  depot  was  labelled  "Green  River." 
VvTellington  burbled:  "What  a  beautiful  name  for  a 
shtation." 

Ashton  announced  that  there  was  something  beau- 
tifuller  still  on  the  platform — "Oh,  a  peach! — a 
nectarine !  and  she's  getting  on  this  train." 

Even  Doctor  Temple  declared  that  she  was  a 
dear  little  thing,  wasn't  she? 

Wellington  pushed  him  aside,  saying:  "Stand 
back,  Doc.,  and  let  me  see;  I  have  a  keen  sense  of 
beau'ful." 

"Be  careful,"  cried  the  doctor,  "he'll  fall  out  of 
the  window." 

"Not  out  of  that  window,"  Ashton  sagely  ob- 
served, seeing  the  bulk  of  Wellington.  As  the  train 
started  off  again,  Little  Jimmie  distributed  alco- 
holic smiles  to  the  Green  Riverers  on  the  platform 
and  called  out: 

"Goo'bye,  ever'body.  You're  all  abslootly — ow! 
ow!"  He  clapped  his  hand  to  his  eye  and  crawled 
back  into  the  car,  groaning  with  pain. 

"What's  the  matter,"  said  Wedgewood.  "Got 
something  in  your  eye?" 

"No,  you  blamed  fool.  I'm  trying  to  look  through 
my  thumb." 


152  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Poor  fellow!"  sympathized  Doctor  Temple,  "it's 
a  cinder!" 

"A  cinder!    It's  at  leasht  a  ton  of  coal." 

"I  say,  old  boy,  let  me  have  a  peek,"  said  Wedge- 
wood,  screwing  in  his  monocle  and  peering  into  the 
depths  of  Wellington's  eye.  "I  can't  see  a  bally 
thing." 

"Of  course  not,  with  that  blinder  on,"  growled 
the  miserable  wretch,  weeping  in  spite  of  himself 
and  rubbing  his  smarting  orb. 

"Don't  rub  that  eye,"  Ashton  counselled,  "rub 
the  other  eye." 

"It's  my  eye;  I'll  rub  it  if  I  want  to.  Get  me  a 
doctor,  somebody.  I'm  dying." 

"Here's  Doctor  Temple,"  said  Ashton,  "right 
on  the  job."  Wellington  turned  to  the  old  clergy- 
man with  pathetic  trust,  and  the  deceiver  writhed 
in  his  disguise.  The  best  he  could  think  of  was: 
"Will  somebody  lend  me  a  lead  pencil?" 

"What  for?"  said  Wellington,  uneasily. 

"I  am  going  to  roll  your  upper  lid  up  on  it,"  said 
the  Doctor. 

"Oh,  no,  you're  not,"  said  the  patient.  "You  can 
roll  your  own  lids!" 

Then  the  conductor,  still  another  conductor,  wan- 
dered on  the  scene  and  asked  as  if  it  were  not  a 
world-important  matter:  "What's  the  matter — 
pick  up  a  cinder?" 


MATRIMONY  TO  AND  FRO  153 

"Yes.  Perhaps  you  can  get  it  out,"  the  alleged 
doctor  appealed. 

The  conductor  nodded :  "The  best  way  is  this — 
take  hold  of  the  winkers. 

"The  what?"  mumbled  Wellington. 

"Grab  the  winkers  of  your  upper  eyelid  in  your 
right  hand " 

"I've  got  'em." 

"Now  grab  the  winkers  of  your  lower  eyelid  in 
your  left  hand.  Now  raise  the  right  hand,  push  the 
under  lid  under  the  overlid  and  haul  the  overlid 
over  the  underlid;  when  you  have  the  overlid  well 
over  the  under " 

Wellington  waved  him  away:  "Say,  what  do  you 
think  I'm  trying  to  do?  stuff  a  mattress?  Get  out 
of  my  way.  I  want  my  wife — lead  me  to  my  wife." 

"An  excellent  idea,"  said  Dr.  Temple,  who  had 
been  praying  for  a  reconciliation. 

He  guided  Wellington  with  difficulty  to  the  ob- 
servation room  and,  finding  Mrs.  Wellington  at  the 
desk  as  usual,  he  began:  "Oh,  Mrs.  Wellington, 
may  I  introduce  you  to  your  husband?" 

Mrs.  Wellington  rose  haughtily,  caught  a  sight 
of  her  suffering  consort  and  ran  to  him  with  a  cry  of 
"Jimmie!" 

"Lucretial" 

"What's  happened — are  you  killed?" 

"I'm  far  from  well.  But  don't  worry.  My  life 
insurance  is  paid  up." 


154  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Oh,  my  poor  little  darling,"  Mrs.  Jimmie  flut- 
tered, "What  on  earth  ails  you?"  She  turned  to 
the  doctor.  "Is  he  going  to  die?" 

"I  think  not,"  said  the  doctor.  "It's  only  a  bad 
case  of  cinder-in-the-eyetis." 

Thus  reassured,  Mrs.  Wellington  went  into  the 
patient's  eye  with  her  handkerchief.  "Is  that  the 
eye?"  she  asked. 

"No!"  he  howled,  "the  other  one." 

She  went  into  that  and  came  out  with  the  cinder. 

"There !     It's  just  a  tiny  speck." 

Wellington  regarded  the  mote  with  amazement. 
"Is  that  all?  It  felt  as  if  I  had  Pike's  Peak  in  my 
eye."  Then  he  waxed  tender.  "Oh,  Lucretia,  how 
can  I  ever " 

But  she  drew  away  with  a  disdainful:  "Give  me 
back  my  hand,  please." 

"Now,  Lucretia,"  he  protested,  "don't  you  think 
you're  carrying  this  pretty  far?" 

"Only  as  far  as  Reno,"  she  answered  grimly, 
which  stung  him  to  retort:  "You'd  better  take  the 
beam  out  of  your  own  eye,  now  that  you've  taken  the 
cinder  out  of  mine,"  but  she,  noting  that  they  were 
the  center  of  interest,  observed:  "All  the  passengers 
are  enjoying  this,  my  dear.  You'd  better  go  back  to 
the  cafe." 

Wellington  regarded  her  with  a  revulsion  to 
wrath.  He  thundered  at  her:  "I  will  go  back,  but 
allow  me  to  inform  you,  my  dear  madam,  that  I'll 


MATRIMONY  TO  AND  FRO  155 

not  drink  another  drop  —  just  to  surprise  you." 
Mrs.  Wellington  shrugged  her  shoulders  at  this 
ancient  threat  and  Jimmie  stumbled  back  to  his  lair, 
whither  the  men  followed  him.  Feeling  sympathy 
in  the  atmosphere,  Little  Jimmie  felt  impelled  to 
pour  out  his  grief: 

"Jellmen,  I'm  a  brok'n-heartless  man.  Mrs. 
WellVton  is  a  queen  among  women,  but  she  has  tem- 
per of  tarant " 

Wedgewood  broke  in:  "I  say,  old  boy,  you've 
carried  this  ballast  for  three  days  now,  wherever 
did  you  get  it?" 

Wellington  drew  himself  up  proudly  for  a  mo- 
ment before  he  slumped  back  into  himself.     "Well, 
you  see,  when  I  announced  to  a  few  friends  that  I 
was  about  to  leave  Mrs.  Well'n'ton  forever  and 
that  I  was  going  out  to — to — you  know." 
"Reno.     We  know.     Well?" 
"Well,  a  crowd  of  my  friends  got  up  a  farewell 
sort  of  divorce  breakfast — and  some  of  'em  felt  so 
very  sad  about  my  divorce  that  they  drank  a  little 
too  much,  and  the  rest  of  my  friends  felt  so  very 
glad  about  my  divorce,  that  they  drank  a  little  too 
much.    And,  of  course,  I  had  to  join  both  parties." 
"And  that  breakfast,"  said  Ashton,  "lasted  till 
the  train  started,  eh?" 

Wellington  glowered  back  triumphantly.  "Lasted 
till  the  train  started?  Jellmen,  that  breakfast  is 
going  yet!" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

IN  THE  SMOKING  ROOM 

WELLINGTON'S  divorce  breakfast  reminded  Ash- 
ton  of  a  story.  Ashton  was  one  of  the  great  That- 
Reminds-Me  family.  Perhaps  it  was  to  the  credit 
of  the  Englishman  that  he  missed  the  point  of  this 
story,  even  though  Jimmie  Wellington  saw  it  through 
his  fog,  and  Dr.  Temple  turned  red  and  buried  his 
eyes  in  the  eminently  respectable  pages  of  the  Sci- 
entific American. 

Ashton  and  Wellington  and  Fosdick  exchanged 
winks  over  the  Britisher's  stare  of  incomprehension, 
and  Ashton  explained  it  to  him  again  in  words  of 
one  syllable,  with  signboards  at  all  the  difficult  spots. 

Finally  a  gleam  of  understanding  broke  over 
Wedgewood's  face  and  he  tried  to  justify  his  delay. 

"Oh,  yes,  of  cawse  I  see  it  now.  Yes,  I  rather 
fancy  I  get  you.  It's  awfully  good,  isn't  it?  I  think 
I  should  have  got  it  before  but  I'm  not  really  my- 
self; for  two  mawnings  I  haven't  had  my  tub." 

Wellington  shook  with  laughter:  "If  you're  like 
this  now,  what  will  you  be  when  you  get  to  Sin  san 

156 


IN  THE  SMOKING  ROOM  157 

frasco — I  mean  Frinsansisco — well,  you  know  what 
I  mean." 

Ashton  reached  round  for  the  electric  button  as 
if  he  were  conferring  a  favor:  "The  drinks  are  on 
you,  Wedgewood.  I'll  ring."  And  he  rang. 

"Awf'lly  kind  of  you,"  said  Wedgewood,  "but 
how  do  you  make  that  out?" 

"The  man  that  misses  the  point,  pays  for  the 
drinks."  And  he  rang  again.  Wellington  protested. 

"But  I've  jolly  well  paid  for  all  the  drinks  for 
two  days." 

Wellington  roared :  "That's  another  point  you've 
missed."  And  Ashton  rang  again,  but  the  pale  yel- 
low individual  who  had  always  answered  the  bell 
with  alacrity  did  not  appear.  "Where's  that  in- 
fernal buffet  waiter?"  Ashton  grumbled. 

Wedgewood  began  to  titter.  "We  were  out  of 
Scotch,  so  I  sent  him  for  some  more." 

"When?" 

"Two  stations  back.  I  fancy  jwe  must  have  left 
him  behind." 

"Well,  why  in  thunder  didn't  you  say  so?"  Ashton 
roared. 

"It  quite  escaped  my  mind,"  Wedgewood  grinned. 
"Rather  good  joke  on  you  fellows,  what?" 

"Well,  I  don't  see  the  point,"  Ashton  growled, 
but  the  triumphant  Englishman  howled:  "That's 
where  you  pay!" 

Wedgewood  had  his  laugh  to  himself,   for  the 


158  EXCUSE  ME! 

others  wanted  to  murder  him.  Ashton  advised  a 
lynching,  but  the  conductor  arrived  on  the  scene  in 
time  to  prevent  violence. 

Fosdick  informed  him  of  the  irretrievable  loss  of 
the  useful  buffet  waiter.  The  conductor  promised 
to  get  another  at  Ogden. 

Ashton  wailed :  "Have  we  got  to  sit  here  and  die 
of  thirst  till  then?" 

The  conductor  refused  to  "back  up  for  a  coon," 
but  offered  to  send  in  a  sleeping-car  porter  as  a 
temporary  substitute. 

As  he  started  to  go,  Fosdick,  who  had  been  in- 
cessantly consulting  his  watch,  checked  him  to  ask: 
"Oh,  conductor,  when  do  we  get  to  the  State-line  of 
dear  old  Utah?" 

"Dear  old  Utah !"  the  conductor  grinned.  "  We'd 
'a'  been  there  already  if  we  hadn't  'a'  fell  behind 
a  little." 

"Just  my  luck  to  be  late,"  Fosdick  moaned. 

"What  you  so  anxious  to  be  in  Utah  for,  Fos- 
dick?" Ashton  asked,  suspiciously.  "You  go  on  to 
'Frisco,  don't  you?" 

Fosdick  was  evidently  confused  at  the  direct  ques- 
tion. He  tried  to  dodge  it:  "Yes,  but — funny  how 
things  have  changed.  When  we  started,  nobody  was 
speaking  to  anybody  except  his  wife,  now " 

"Now,"  said  Ashton,  drily,  "everybody's  speaking 
to  everybody  except  his  wife." 

"You're  wrong  there,"  Little  Jimmie  interrupted. 


IN  THE  SMOKING  ROOM  159 

"I  wasn't  speaking  to  my  wife  in  the  first  place.  We 
got  on  as  strangersh  and  we're  strangersh  yet.  Mrs. 
Well'n'ton  is  a " 

"A  queen  among  women,  we  know!  Dry  up," 
said  Ashton,  and  then  they  heard  the  querulous  voice 
of  the  porter  of  their  sleeping  car:  "I  tell  you,  I 
don't  know  nothin'  about  the  buffet  business." 

The  conductor  pushed  him  in  with  a  gruff  com- 
mand: "Crawl  in  that  cage  and  get  busy." 

Still  the  porter  protested:  "Mista  Pullman  en- 
gaged me  for  a  sleepin'  car,  not  a  drinkin'  car.  I'm 
a  berth-maker,  not  a  mixer."  He  cast  a  resentful 
glance  through  the  window  that  served  also  as  a 
bar,  and  his  whole  tone  changed:  "Say,  is  you 
goin'  to  allow  me  loose  amongst  all  them  beautiful 
bottles?  Say,  man,  if  you  do,  I  can't  guarantee  my 
conduck." 

"If  you  even  sniff  one  of  those  bottles,"  the  con- 
ductor warned  him,  "I'll  crack  it  over  your  head." 

"That  won't  worry  me  none — as  long  as  my 
mouf's  open."  He  smacked  his  chops  over  the  pros- 
pect of  intimacy  with  that  liquid  treasury.  "Lordy! 
Well,  I'll  try  to  control  my  emotions — but  remem- 
ber, I  don't  guarantee  nothin'." 

The  conductor  started  to  go,  but  paused  for  final 
instructions:  "And  remember — after  we  get  to 
Utah  you  can't  serve  any  hard  liquor  at  all." 

"What's  that?  Don't  they  'low  nothin'  in  that 
eld  Utah  but  ice-cream  soda?" 


160  EXCUSE  ME! 

"That's  about  all.  If  you  touch  a  drop,  I'll  leave 
you  in  Utah  for  life." 

"Oh,  Lordy,  I'll  be  good!" 

The  conductor  left  the  excited  black  and  went  his 
way.  Ashton  was  the  first  to  speak:  "Say,  Porter, 
can  you  mix  drinks?" 

The  porter  ruminated,  then  confessed:  "Well, 
not  on  the  outside,  no,  sir.  If  you-all  is  thirsty  you 
better  order  the  simpelest  things  you  can  think  of. 
If  you  was  to  command  anything  fancy,  Lord  knows 
what  you'd  get.  Supposin'  you  was  to  say,  'Gimme 
a  Tom  Collins.'  I'd  be  just  as  liable  as  not  to  pass 
you  a  Jack  Johnson." 

"Well,  can  you  open  beer?" 

"Oh,  I'm  a  natural  born  beer-opener." 

"Rush  it  out  then.  My  throat  is  as  full  of  alkali 
dust  as  these  windows." 

The  porter  soon  appeared  with  a  tray  full  of 
cotton-topped  glasses.  The  day  was  hot  and  the 
alkali  dust  very  oppressive,  and  the  beer  was  cold. 
Dr.  Temple  looked  on  it  when  it  was  amber,  and 
suffered  himself  to  be  bullied  into  taking  a  glass. 

He  felt  that  he  was  the  greatest  sinner  on  earth, 
but  worst  of  all  was  the  fact  that  when  he  had  fallen, 
the  forbidden  brew  was  not  sweet.  He  was  inex- 
perienced enough  to  sip  it  and  it  was  like  foaming 
quinine  on  his  palate.  But  he  kept  at  it  from  sheer 
shame,  and  his  luxurious  transgression  was  its  own 
punishment. 


IN  THE  SMOKING  ROOM  161 

The  doleful  Mallory  was  on  his  way  to  join  the 
"club".  Crossing  the  vestibule  he  had  met  the  con- 
ductor, and  had  ventured  to  quiz  him  along  the  old 
lines: 

"Excuse  me,  haven't  you  taken  any  clergymen  on 
board  this  train  yet?" 

"Devil  a  one." 

"Don't  you  ever  carry  any  preachers  on  this 
road?" 

"Usually  we  get  one  or  two.  Last  trip  we  carried 
a  whole  Methodist  convention." 

"A  whole  convention  last  trip  !    Just  my  luck !" 

The  unenlightened  conductor  turned  to  call  back: 
"Say,  up  in  the  forward  car  we  got  a  couple  of  un- 
dertakers. They  be  of  any  use  to  you?" 

"Not  yet." 

Then  Mallory  dawdled  on  into  the  smoking  room, 
where  he  found  his  own  porter,  who  explained  that 
he  had  been  "promoted  to  the  bottlery." 

"Do  we  come  to  a  station  stop  soon?"  Mallory 
asked. 

"Well,  not  for  a  considerable  interval.  Do  you 
want  to  get  out  and  walk  up  and  down?"  | 

"I  don't,"  said  Mallory,  taking  from  under  his 
coat  Snoozleums,  whom  he  had  smuggled  past  the 
new  conductor.  "Meanwhile,  Porter,  could  you  give 
him  something  to  eat  to  distract  him?" 

The  porter  grinned,  and  picking  up  a  bill  of  fare 
held  it  out.  "I  got  a  meenuel.  It  ain't  written  in 


162  EXCUSE  ME! 

dog,  but  you  can  explain  it  to  him.  What  would  yo* 
canine  desiah,  sah?" 

Snoozleums  put  out  a  paw  and  Mallory  read  what 
it  indicated:  "He  says  he'd  like  a  filet  Chateau- 
briand, but  if  you  have  any  old  bones,  he'll  take 
those."  The  porter  gathered  Snoozleums  in  and 
disappeared  with  him  into  the  buffet,  Mallory  call- 
ing after  him:  "Don't  let  the  conductor  see  him." 

Dr.  Temple  advanced  on  the  disconsolate  youth 
with  an  effort  at  cheer:  "How  is  our  bridegroom 
this  beautiful  afternoon?" 

Mallory  glanced  at  his  costume:  "I  feel  like  a 
rainbow  gone  wrong.  Just  my  luck  to  have  to  bor- 
row from  everybody.  Look  at  me !  This  collar  of 
Mr.  Wellington's  makes  me  feel  like  a  peanut  in  a 
rubber  tire."  He  turned  to  Fosdick. 

"I  say,  Mr.  Fosdick,  what  size  collar  do  you 
wear?" 

"Fourteen  and  a  half,"  said  Fosdick. 

"Fourteen  and  a  half! — why  don't  you  get  a  neck? 
You  haven't  got  a  plain  white  shirt,  have  you?  Our 
English  friend  lent  me  this,  but  it's  purple,  and  Mr. 
Ashton's  socks  are  maroon,  and  this  peacock  blue 
tie  is  very  unhappy." 

"I  think  I  can  fit  you  out,"  said  Fosdick. 

"And  if  you  had  an  extra  pair  of  socks,"  Mallory 
pleaded, — "just  one  pair  of  unemotional  socks." 

"I'll  show  you  my  repertoire." 

"All  right,  I'll  see  you  later."    Then  he  went  up 


IN  THE  SMOKING  ROOM  163 

to  Wellington,  with  much  hesitance  of  manner.  "By 
the  way,  Mr.  Wellington,  do  you  suppose  Mrs.  Wel- 
lington could  lend  Miss — Mrs. — could  lend  Mar- 
jorie  some — some " 

Wellington  waved  him  aside  with  magnificent 
scorn:  "I  am  no  longer  in  Mrs.  Wellington's  con- 
fidence." 

"Oh,  excuse  me,"  said  Mallory.  He  had  noted 
that  the  Wellingtons  occupied  separate  compart- 
ments, but  for  all  he  knew  their  reason  was  as  ro- 
mantic as  his  own. 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THROUGH  A  TUNNEL 

MRS.  JIMMIE  WELLINGTON,  who  had  traveled 
much  abroad  and  learned  in  England  the  habit  of 
smoking  in  the  corridors  of  expensive  hotels,  had 
acquired  also  the  habit,  as  travelers  do,  of  calling 
England  freer  than  America.  She  determined  to  do 
her  share  toward  the  education  of  her  native  coun- 
try, and  chose,  for  her  topic,  tobacco  as  a  feminine 
accomplishment. 

She  had  grown  indifferent  to  stares  and  audible 
comment  and  she  could  fight  a  protesting  head  waiter 
to  a  standstill.  If  monuments  and  tablets  are  ever 
erected  to  the  first  woman  who  smoked  publicly  in 
this  place  or  that,  Mrs.  Jimmie  Wellington  will 
be  variously  remembered  and  occupy  a  large  place 
in  historical  record. 

The  narrow  confines  of  the  women's  room  on  the 
sleeping  car  soon  palled  on  her,  and  she  objected  to 
smoking  there  except  when  she  felt  the  added  luxury 
of  keeping  some  other  woman  outside — fuming,  but 
not  smoking.  And  now  Mrs.  Jimmie  had  staked  out 
a  claim  on  the  observation  platform.  She  sat  there, 

164 


THROUGH  A  TUNNEL  165 

puffing  like  a  major-general,  and  in  one  portion  of 
Nebraska  two  farmers  fell  off  their  agricultural 
vehicles  at  the  sight  of  her  cigar-smoke  trailing  after 
the  train.  In  Wyoming  three  cowboys  followed  her 
for  a  mile,  yipping  and  howling  their  compli- 
ments. 

Feeling  the  smoke  mood  coming  on,  Mrs.  Wel- 
lington invited  Mrs.  Temple  to  smoke  with  her,  but 
Mrs.  Temple  felt  a  reminiscent  qualm  at  the  very 
thought,  so  Mrs.  Jimmie  sauntered  out  alone,  to  the 
great  surprise  of  Ira  Lathrop,  whose  motto  was, 
"Two  heads  are  better  than  one,"  and  who  was 
apparently  willing  to  wait  till  Anne  Cattle's  head 
grew  on  his  shoulder. 

"I  trust  I  don't  intrude,"  Mrs.  Wellington  said. 

"Oh,  no.  Oh,  yes."  Anne  gasped  in  fiery  con- 
fusion as  she  fled  into  the  car,  followed  by  the  purple- 
faced  Ira,  who  slammed  the  door  with  a  growl: 
"That  Wellington  woman  would  break  up  anything." 

The  prim  little  missionary  toppled  into  the  nearest 
chair:  "Oh,  Ira,  what  will  she  think?" 

"She  can't  think!"  Ira  grumbled.  "In  a  little 
while  she'll  know." 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  tell  everybody  be- 
fore they  begin  to  talk?" 

Ira  glowed  with  pride  at  the  thought  and  mur- 
mured with  all  the  ardor  of  a  senile  Romeo:  "I 
suppose  so,  ducky  darling.  I'll  break  it — I  mean  I'll 
tell  it  to  the  men,  and  you  tell  the  women." 


166  EXCUSE  ME! 

"All  right,  dear,  I'll  obey  you,"  she  answered, 
meekly. 

"Obey  me!"  Ira  laughed  with  boyish  swagger. 
"And  you  a  missionary!" 

"Well,  I've  converted  one  heathen,  anyway,"  said 
Anne  as  she  darted  down  the  corridor,  followed  by 
Ira,  who  announced  his  intention  to  "go  to  the  bag- 
gage car  and  dig  up  his  old  Prince  Albert." 

In  their  flight  forward  they  passed  the  mysterious 
woman  in  the  stateroom.  They  were  too  full  of 
their  own  mystery  to  give  thought  to  hers.  Mrs. 
Fosdick  went  timidly  prowling  toward  the  observa- 
tion car,  suspecting  everybody  to  be  a  spy,  as  Mal- 
lory  suspected  everybody  to  be  a  clergyman  in  dis- 
guise. 

As  she  stole  along  the  corridor  past  the  men's 
clubroom  she  saw  her  husband — her  here-and-there 
husband — wearily  counting  the  telegraph  posts  and 
summing  them  up  into  miles.  She  tapped  on  the 
glass  and  signalled  to  him,  then  passed  on. 

He  answered  with  a  look,  then  pretended  not  to 
have  noticed,  and  waited  a  few  moments  before  he 
rose  with  an  elaborate  air  of  carelessness.  He  beck- 
oned the  porter  and  said: 

"Let  me  know  the  moment  we  enter  Utah,  will 
you?" 

"Yassah.  We'll  be  comin'  along  right  soon  now. 
We  got  to  pass  through  the  big  Aspen  tunnel,  after 
that,  befo'  long,  we  splounce  into  old  Utah." 


THROUGH  A  TUNNEL  167 

"Don't  forget,"  said  Fosdick,  as  he  sauntered  out. 
Ashton  perked  up  his  ears  at  the  promise  of  a  tunnel 
and  kept  his  eye  on  his  watch. 

Fosdick  entered  the  observation  room  with  a 
hungry  look  in  his  luscious  eyes.  His  now-and-then 
wife  put  up  a  warning  finger 'to  indicate  Mrs.  Whit- 
comb's  presence  at  the  writing  desk. 

Fosdick's  smile  froze  into  a  smirk  of  formality 
and  he  tried  to  chill  his  tone  as  if  he  were  speaking 
to  a  total  stranger. 

"Good  afternoon." 

Mrs.  Fosdick  answered  with  equal  ice:  "Good 
afternoon.  Won't  you  sit  down?" 

"Thanks.    Very  picturesque  scenery,  isn't  it?" 

"Isn't  it?"  Fosdick  seated  himself,  looked  about 
cautiously,  noted  that  Mrs.  Whitcomb  was  appar- 
ently absorbed  in  her  letter,  then  lowered  his  voice 
confidentially.  His  face  kept  up  a  strained  pretense 
of  indifference,  but  his  whisper  was  passionate  with 
longing: 

"Has  my  poor  little  wifey  missed  her  poor  old 
hubby?" 

"Oh,  so  much!"  she  whispered.  "Has  poor  little 
hubby  missed  his  poor  old  wife?" 

"Horribly.  Was  she  lonesome  in  that  dismal 
stateroom  all  by  herself?" 

"Oh,  so  miserable!  I  can't  stand  it  much  long- 
er." 

Fosdick's  face  blazed  with  good  news:    "In  just 


168  EXCUSE  ME! 

a  little  while  we  come  to  the  Utah  line — then  we're 
safe." 

"God  bless  Utah!" 

The  rapture  died  from  her  face  as  she  caught  sight 
of  Dr.  Temple,  who  happened  to  stroll  in  and  go  to 
the  bookshelves,  and  taking  out  a  book  happened  to 
glance  near-sightedly  her  way. 

"Be  careful  of  that  man,  dearie,"  Mrs.  Fosdick 
hissed  out  of  one  side  of  her  mouth.  "He's  a  very 
strange  character." 

Her  husband  was  infected  with  her  own  terror. 
He  asked,  huskily:  "What  do  you  think  he  is?" 

"A  detective!  I'm  sure  he's  watching  us.  He 
followed  you  right  in  here." 

"We'll  be  very  cautious — till  we  get  to  Utah." 

The  old  clergyman,  a  little  fuzzy  in  brain  from 
his  debut  in  beer,  continued  innocently  to  confirm 
the  appearance  of  a  detective  by  drifting  aimlessly 
about.  He  was  looking  for  his  wife,  but  he  kept 
glancing  at  the  uneasy  Fosdicks.  He  went  to  the 
door,  opened  it,  saw  Mrs.  Wellington  finishing  a 
cigar,  and  retreated  precipitately.  Seeing  Mrs. 
Temple  wandering  in  the  corridor,  he  motioned  her 
to  a  chair  near  the  Fosdicks  and  she  sat  by  his  side, 
wondering  at  his  filmy  eyes. 

The  Fosdicks,  glancing  uncomfortably  at  Dr. 
Temple,  rose  and  selected  other  chairs  further  away. 
Then  Roger  Ashton  sauntered  in,  his  eyes  searching 
for  a  proper  companion  through  the  tunnel. 


THROUGH  A  TUNNEL  169 

He  saw  Mrs.  Wellington  returning  from  the  plat- 
form, just  tossing  away  her  cigar  and  blowing  out 
the  last  of  its  grateful  vapor. 

With  an  effort  at  sarcasm,  he  went  to  her  and 
offered  her  one  of  his  own  cigars,  smiling:  "Have 
another." 

She  took  it,  looked  it  over,  and  parried  his  irony 
with  a  formula  she  had  heard  men  use  when  they 
hate  to  refuse  a  gift-cigar:  "Thanks.  I'll  smoke 
it  after  dinner,  if  you  don't  mind." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind,"  he  laughed,  then  bending 
closer  he  murmured:  "They  tell  me  we  are  coming 
to  a  tunnel,  a  nice,  long,  dark,  dismal  tunnel." 

Mrs.  Wellington  would  not  take  a  dare.  She  felt 
herself  already  emancipated  from  Jimmie.  So  she 
answered  Ashton's  hint  with  a  laughing  challenge : 

"How  nice  of  the  conductor  to  arrange  it." 

Ashton  smacked  his  lips  over  the  prospect. 

And  now  the  porter,  having  noted  Ashton's  im- 
patience to  reach  the  tunnel,  thought  to  curry  favor 
and  a  quarter  by  announcing  its  approach.  He 
bustled  in  and  made  straight  for  Ashton  just  as  the 
tunnel  announced  itself  with  a  sudden  swoop  of 
gloom,  a  great  increase  of  the  train-noises  and  a  far- 
off  clang  of  the  locomotive  bell. 

Out  of  the  Egyptian  darkness  came  the  unmis- 
takable sounds  of  osculation  in  various  parts  of  the 
room.  Doubtless,  it  was  repeated  in  other  parts  of 
the  train.  There  were  numerous  cooing  sounds,  too, 


170  EXCUSE  ME! 

but  nobody  spoke  except  Mrs.  Temple,  who  was 
heard  to  murmur: 

"Oh,  Walter,  dear,  what  makes  your  breath  so 
funny!" 

Next  came  a  little  yowl  of  pain  in  Mrs.  Fosdick's 
voice,  and  then  daylight  flooded  the  car  with  a  rush, 
as  if  time  had  made  an  instant  leap  from  midnight 
to  noon.  There  were  interesting  disclosures. 

Mrs.  Temple  was  caught  with  her  arms  round 
the  doctor's  neck,  and  she  blushed  like  a  spoony  girl. 
Mrs.  Fosdick  was  trying  to  disengage  her  hair  from 
Mr.  Fosdick's  scarf-pin.  Mrs.  Whitcomb  alone  was 
deserted.  Mr.  Ashton  was  gazing  devotion  at  Mrs. 
Wellington  and  trying  to  tell  her  with  his  eyes  how 
velvet  he  had  found  her  cheek. 

But  she  was  looking  reproachfully  at  him  from 
a  chair,  and  saying,  not  without  regret: 

"I  heard  everybody  kissing  everybody,  but  I  was 
cruelly  neglected." 

Ashton's  eyes  widened  with  unbelief,  he  heard  a 
snicker  at  his  elbow,  and  whirled  to  find  the  porter 
rubbing  his  black  velvet  cheek  and  writhing  with 
pent-up  laughter. 

Mrs.  Wellington  glanced  the  same  way,  and  a 
shriek  of  understanding  burst  from  her.  It  sent  the 
porter  into  a  spasm  of  yah-yahs  till  he  caught  Ash- 
ton's  eyes  and  saw  murder  in  them.  The  porter  fled 
to  the  platform  and  held  the  door  fast,  expecting 
to  be  lynched. 


THROUGH  A  TUNNEL  171 

But  Ashton  dashed  away  in  search  of  concealment 
and  soap. 

The  porter  remained  on  the  platform  for  some 
time,  planning  to  leap  overboard  and  take  his 
chances  rather  than  fall  into  Ashton's  hands,  but  at 
length,  finding  himself  unpursued,  he  peered  into  the 
car  and,  seeing  that  Ashton  had  gone,  he  returned 
to  his  duties.  He  kept  a  close  watch  on  Ashton,  but 
on  soberer  thoughts  Ashton  had  decided  that  the 
incident  would  best  be  consigned  to  silence  and  ob- 
livion. But  for  all  the  rest  of  that  day  he  kept  rub- 
bing his  lips  with  his  handkerchief. 

The  porter,  noting  that  the  train  had  swept  into 
a  granite  gorge  like  an  enormously  magnified  aisle 
in  a  made-up  sleeping  car,  recognized  the  presence 
of  Echo  Canyon,  and  with  it  the  entrance  into  Utah. 
He  hastened  to  impart  the  tidings  to  Mr.  Fosdick 
and  held  out  his  hand  as  he  extended  the  informa- 
tion. 

Fosdick  could  hardly  believe  that  his  twelve- 
hundred-mile  exile  was  over. 

"We're  in  Utah?"  he  exclaimed. 

"Yassah,"  and  the  porter  shoved  his  palm  into 
view.  Fosdick  filled  it  with  all  his  loose  change,  then 
whirled  to  his  wife  and  cried: 

"Edith!    We  are  in  Utah  now!    Embrace  me!" 

She  flung  herself  into  his  arms  with  a  gurgle  of 
bliss.  The  other  passengers  gasped  with  amaze- 
ment. This  sort  of  thing  was  permissible  enough 


172  EXCUSE  ME! 

in   a   tunnel,   but   in   the    full   light   of   day ! 

Fosdick,  noting  the  sensation  he  had  created, 
waved  his  hand  reassuringly  and  called  across  his 
wife's  shoulder: 

"Don't  be  alarmed,  ladies  and  gentlemen.  She's 
my  wife!"  He  added  in  a  whisper  meant  for  her 
ear  alone:  "At  least  till  we  get  to  Nevada!" 

Then  she  whispered  something  in  his  ear  and 
they  hurried  from  the  car.  They  left  behind  them 
a  bewilderment  that  eclipsed  the  wonder  of  the  Mai- 
lories.  That  couple  spoke  to  each  other  at  least 
during  the  day  time.  Here  was  a  married  pair  that 
did  not  speak  at  all  for  two  days  and  two  nights  and 
then  made  a  sudden  and  public  rush  to  each  other's 
arms! 

Dr.  Temple  summed  up  the  general  feeling  when 
he  said: 

"I  don't  believe  in  witches,  but  if  I  did,  I'd  believe 
that  this  train  is  bewitched." 

Later  he  decided  that  Fosdick  was  a  Mormon 
elder  and  that  Mrs.  Fosdick  was  probably  a  twelfth 
or  thirteenth  spouse  he  was  smuggling  in  from  the 
East.  The  theory  was  not  entirely  false,  for  Fos- 
dick was  one  of  the  many  victims  of  the  crazy-quilt 
of  American  divorce  codes,  though  he  was  the  most 
unwilling  of  polygamists.  And  Dr.  Temple  gave  up 
his  theory  in  despair  the  next  morning  when  he  found 
the  Fosdicks  still  on  the  train,  and  once  more  keep- 
ing aloof  from  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THE  TRAIN  BUTCHER 

MALLORY  was  dragging  out  a  miserable  existence 
with  a  companion  who  was  neither  maid,  wife,  nor 
widow  and  to  whom  he  was  neither  bachelor,  hus- 
band, nor  relict. 

They  were  suffering  brain-fag  from  their  one  topic 
of  conversation,  and  heart-fag  from  rapture  de- 
ferred. Marjorie  had  pretended  to  take  a  nap  and 
Mallory  had  pretended  that  he  would  leave  her  for 
her  own  sake.  Their  contradictory  chains  were  be- 
ginning to  gall. 

Mallory  sat  in  the  smoking  room,  and  threw  aside 
a  half-finished  cigar.  Life  was  indeed  nauseous 
when  tobacco  turned  rank  on  his  lips.  He  watched 
without  interest  the  stupendous  scenery  whirling  past 
the  train;  granite  ravines,  infernal  grotesques  of 
architecture  and  diablerie,  the  Giant's  Teapot,  the 
Devil's  Slide,  the  Pulpit  Rock,  the  Hanging  Rock, 
splashes  of  mineral  color,  as  if  titanic  paint  pots 
had  been  spilled  or  flung  against  the  cliffs,  sudden 
hushes  of  green  pine-worlds,  dreary  graveyards  of 
sand  and  sagebrush,  mountain  streams  in  frothing 
panics. 

173 


EXCUSE  ME! 

His  jaded  soul  could  not  respond  to  any  of  these 
thrillers,  the  dime-novels  and  melodramatic  third- 
acts  of  Nature.  But  with  the  arrival  of  a  train-boy, 
who  had  got  on  at  Evanston  with  a  batch  of  Salt 
Lake  City  newspapers,  he  woke  a  little. 

The  other  men  came  trooping  round,  like  sheep 
at  a  herd-boy's  whistle  or  chickens  when  a  pan  of 
grain  is  brought  into  the  yard.  The  train  "butcher" 
had  a  nasal  sing-song,  but  his  strain  might  have  been 
the  Pied  Piper's  tune  emptying  Hamelin  of  its 
grown-ups.  The  charms  of  flirtation,  matrimonial 
bliss  and  feminine  beauty  were  forgotten,  and  the 
males  flocked  to  the  delights  of  stock-market  re- 
ports, political  or  racing  or  dramatic  or  sporting  or 
criminal  news.  Even  Ashton  braved  the  eyes  of  his 
fellow  men  for  the  luxury  of  burying  his  nose  in  a 
fresh  paper. 

"Papers,  gents?  Yes?  No?"  the  train  butcher 
chanted.  "Salt  Lake  papers,  Ogden  papers,  all  the 
latest  papers,  comic  papers,  magazines,  periodicals." 

"Here,  boy,"  said  Ashton,  snapping  his  fingers, 
"what's  the  latest  New  York  paper?" 

"Last  Sat'day's." 

"Six  days  old?  I  read  that  before  I  left  New 
York.  Well,  give  me  that  Salt  Lake  paper.  It  has 
yesterday's  stock  market,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  sir."  He  passed  over  the  sheet  and  made 
change,  without  abating  his  monody:  "Papers, 
gents.  Yes?  No?  Salt  Lake  pa " 


THE  TRAIN  BUTCHER  175 

"Whash  latesh  from  Chicago?"  said  Wellington. 
"Monday's." 

"I  read  that  before — that  breakfast  began," 
laughed  Little  Jimmie.  "Well,  give  me  Salt  Lake 
Bazoo.  It  has  basheball  news,  I  s'pose." 

"Yes,  sir,"  the  butcher  answered,  and  his  tone 
grew  reverent  as  he  said:  "The  Giants  won.  Mr. 
Mattyson  was  pitching.  Papers,  gents,  all  the  lat- 
est papers,  magazines,  periodicals." 

Wedgewood  extended  a  languid  hand:  "What's 
the  latest  issue  of  the  London  Times?" 
"Never  heard  of  it." 

Wedgewood  almost  fainted,  and  returned  to  his 
Baedeker  of  the  United  States. 

Dr.  Temple  summoned  the  lad:  "I  don't  suppose 
you  have  the  Ypsilanti  Eagle?" 

The  butcher  regarded  him  with  pity,  and  sniffed: 
"I  carry  newspapers,  not  poultry." 

"Well,  give  me  the "  he  saw  a  pink  weekly 

of  rather  picturesque  appearance,  and  the  adventure 
attracted  him.  "I'll  take  this — also  the  Outlook" 
He  folded  the  pink  within  the  green,  and  entered 
into  a  new  and  startling  world — a  sort  of  journalistic 
slumming  tour. 

"Give  me  any  old  thing,"  said  Mallory,  and  flung 
open  an  Ogden  journal  till  he  found  the  sporting 
page,  where  his  eyes  brightened.  "By  jove,  a  ten- 
inning  game!  Matthewson  in  the  box!" 

"Mattie    is    most    intelleckshal    pitcher    in    the 


176  EXCUSE  ME! 

world,"  said  Little  Jimmie,  and  then  everybody  dis- 
appeared behind  paper  ramparts,  while  the  butcher 
lingered  to  explain  to  the  porter  the  details  of  the 
great  event. 

About  this  time,  Marjorie,  tired  of  her  pretence 
at  slumber,  strolled  into  the  observation  car,  glanc- 
ing into  the  men's  room,  where  she  saw  nothing 
but  newspapers.  Then  Mrs.  Wellington  saw  her, 
and  smiled:  "Come  in  and  make  yourself  at 
home." 

"Thanks,"  said  Marjorie,  bashfully,  "I  was  look- 
ing for  my — my " 

"Husband?" 

"My  dog." 

"How  is  he  this  morning?" 

"My  dog?" 

"Your  husband." 

"Oh,  he's  as  well  as  could  be  expected." 

"Where  did  you  get  that  love  of  a  waist?"  Mrs. 
Wellington  laughed. 

"Mrs.  Temple  lent  it  to  me.    Isn't  it  sweet?" 

"Exquisite!     The  latest  Ypsilanti  mode." 

Marjorie,  suffering  almost  more  acutely  from 
being  badly  frocked  than  from  being  duped  in  her 
matrimonial  hopes,  threw  herself  on  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton's mercy. 

"I'm  so  unhappy  in  this.  Couldn't  you  lend  me 
or  sell  me  something  a  little  smarter?" 

"I'd  love  to,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Wellington, 


THE  TRAIN  BUTCHER  177 

"but  I  left  home  on  short  notice  myself.  I  shall 
need  all  my  divorce  trousseau  in  Reno.  Otherwise 
— I — but  here's  your  husband.  You  two  ought  to 
have  some  place  to  spoon.  I'll  leave  you  this  whole 
room." 

And  she  swept  out,  nodding  to  Mallory,  who  had 
divined  Marjorie's  presence,  and  felt  the  need  of 
being  near  her,  though  he  also  felt  the  need  of  fin- 
ishing the  story  of  the  great  ball  game.  Husband- 
like,  he  felt  that  he  was  conferring  sufficient  cour- 
tesy in  throwing  a  casual  smile  across  the  top  of  the 
paper. 

Marjorie  studied  his  motley  garb,  and  her  own, 
and  groaned: 

"We're  a  sweet  looking  pair,  aren't  we?" 

"Mr.  and  Miss  Fit,"  said  Mallory,  from  behind 
the  paper. 

"Oh,  Harry,  has  your  love  grown  cold?"  she 
pleaded. 

"Marjorie,  how  can  you  think  such  a  thing?"  still 
from  behind  the  paper. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Wellington  said  we  ought  to  have 
some  place  to  spoon,  and  she  went  away  and  left 
us,  and — there  you  stand — and " 

This  pierced  even  the  baseball  news,  and  he  threw 
his  arms  around  her  with  glow  of  devotion. 

She  snuggled  closer,  and  cooed:  "Aren't  we  hav- 
ing a  nice  long  engagement?  We've  traveled  a 
million  miles,  and  the  preacher  isn't  in  sight  yet. 


ITS  "EXCUSE  ME! 

What  have  you  been  reading — wedding  announce- 
ments?" 

"No — I  was  reading  about  the  most  wonderful 
exhibition.  Mattie  was  in  the  box — and  in  perfect 

form." 

"Mattie?"  Marjorie  gasped  uneasily. 

"Mattie!"  he  raved,  "and  in  perfect  form." 

And  now  the  hidden  serpent  of  jealousy,  which 
promised  to  enliven  their  future,  lifted  its  head  for 
the  first  time,  and  Mallory  caught  his  first  glimpse  of 
an  unsuspected  member  of  their  household.  Mar- 
jorie demanded  with  an  ominous  chill: 

"And  who's  Mattie?  Some  former  sweetheart 
of  yours?" 

"My  dear,"  laughed  Mallory. 

But  Marjorie  was  up  and  away,  with  apt  temper: 
"So  Mattie  was  in  the  box,  was  she?  What  is  it 
to  you,  where  she  sits?  You  dare  to  read  about  her 
and  rave  over  her  perfect  form,  while  you  neglect 
your  wife — or  your — oh,  what  am  I,  anyway?" 

Mallory  stared  at  her  in  amazement.  He  was 
beginning  to  learn  what  ignorant  heathen  women  are 
concerning  so  many  of  the  gods  and  demi-gods  of 
mankind.  Then,  with  a  tenderness  he  might  not  al- 
ways show,  he  threw  the  paper  down  and  took  her  in 
his  arms:  "You  poor  child.  Mattie  is  a  man — a 
pitcher — and  you're  the  only  woman  I  ever  loved — 
and  you  are  liable  to  be  my  wife  any  minute." 

The  explanation  was  sufficient,  and  she  crawled 


THE  TRAIN  BUTCHER  179 

into  the  shelter  of  his  arm  with  little  noises  that 
served  for  apology,  forgiveness  and  reconciliation. 
Then  he  made  the  mistake  of  mentioning  the  sick- 
ening topic  of  deferred  hope: 

"A  minister's  sure  to  get  on  at  the  next  stop — 
or  the  next." 

Marjorie's  nerves  were  frayed  by  too  much  endur- 
ing, and  it  took  only  a  word  to  set  them  jangling: 
"If  you  say  minister  to  me  again,  I'll  scream."  Then 
she  tried  to  control  herself  with  a  polite :  "Where  is 
the  next  stop?" 

"Ogden." 

"Where's  that?    On  the  map?" 

"Well,  it's  in  Utah." 

"Utah!"  she  groaned.  "They  marry  by  whole- 
sale there,  and  we  can't  even  get  a  sample." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THE  TRAIN  WRECKER 

THE  train-butcher,  entering  the  Observation 
Room,  found  only  a  loving  couple.  He  took  in  at 
a  glance  their  desire  for  solitude.  A  large  part  of 
his  business  was  the  forcing  of  wares  on  people  who 
did  not  want  them. 

His  voice  and  his  method  suggested  the  mosquito. 
Seeing  Mallory  and  Marjorie  mutually  absorbed  in 
reading  each  other's  eyes,  and  evidently  in  need  of 
nothing  on  earth  less  than  something  else  to  read, 
the  train-butcher  decided  that  his  best  plan  of  attack 
was  to  make  himself  a  nuisance.  It  is  a  plan  suc- 
cessfully adopted  by  organ-grinders,  street  pianists 
and  other  blackmailers  under  the  guise  of  art,  who 
have  nothing  so  welcome  to  sell  as  their  absence. 

Mallory  and  Marjorie  heard  the  train-boy's  hum, 
but  they  tried  to  ignore  it. 

"Papers,  gents  and  ladies?  Yes?  No?  Paris 
fashions,  lady?" 

He  shoved  a  large  periodical  between  their  very 
noses,  but  Marjorie  threw  it  on  the  floor,  with  a  bit- 
ter glance  at  her  own  borrowed  plumage : 

180 


THE  TRAIN  WRECKER  181 

"Don't  show  me  any  Paris  fashions!"  Then  she 
gave  the  boy  his  conge  by  resuming  her  chat  with 
Mallory:  "How  long  do  we  stop  at  Ogden?" 

The  train-boy  went  right  on  auctioning  his  papers 
and  magazines,  and  poking  them  into  the  laps  of  his 
prey.  And  they  went  right  on  talking  to  one  an- 
other and  pushing  his  papers  and  magazines  to  the 
floor. 

"I  think  I'd  better  get  off  at  Ogden,  and  take  the 
next  train  back.  That's  just  what  I'll  do.  Nothing, 
thank  you!"  this  last  to  the  train-boy. 

"But  you  can't  leave  me  like  this,"  Mallory  urged 
excitedly,  with  a  side  glance  of  "No,  no!"  to  the 
train-boy. 

"I  can,  and  I  must,  and  I  will,"  Marjorie  insisted. 
"I'll  go  pack  my  things  now." 

"But,  Marjorie,  listen  to  me." 

"Will  you  let  me  alone!"  This  to  the  gadfly,  but 
to  Mallory  a  dejected  wail:  "I — I  just  remembered. 
I  haven't  anything  to  pack." 

"And  you'll  have  to  give  back  that  waist  to  Mrs. 
Temple.  You  can't  get  off  at  Ogden  without  a 
waist." 

"I'll  go  anyway.    I  want  to  get  home." 

"Marjorie,  if  you  talk  that  way — I'll  throw  you 
off  the  train!" 

She  gasped.  He  explained:  "I  wasn't  talking  to 
you;  I  was  trying  to  stop  this  phonograph."  Then 
he  rose,  and  laid  violent  hands  on  the  annoyer, 


182  EXCUSE  ME! 

shoved  him  to  the  corridor,  seized  his  bundle  of  pa- 
pers from  his  arm,  and  hurled  them  at  his  head. 
They  fell  in  a  shower  about  the  train-butcher,  who 
could  only  feel  a  certain  respect  for  the  one  man 
who  had  ever  treated  him  as  he  knew  he  deserved. 
He  bent  to  pick  up  his  scattered  merchandise,  and 
when  he  had  gathered  his  stock  together,  put  his 
head  in,  and  sang  out  a  sincere: 

"Excuse  me." 

But  Mallory  did  not  hear  him,  he  was  excitedly 
trying  to  calm  the  excited  girl,  who,  having  eloped 
with  him,  was  preparing  now  to  elope  back  without 
him. 

"Darling,  you  can't  desert  me  now,"  he  pleaded, 
"and  leave  me  to  go  on  alone?" 

"Well,  why  don't  you  do  something?"  she  re- 
torted, in  equal  desperation.  "If  I  were  a  man,  and 
I  had  the  girl  I  loved  on  a  train.  I'd  get  her  mar- 
ried if  I  had  to  wreck  the "  she  caught  her 

breath,  paused  a  second  in  intense  thought,  and  then, 
with  sudden  radiance,  cried:  "Harry,  dear!" 

"Yes,  love!  " 

"I  have  an  idea — an  inspiration!" 

"Yes,  pet,"  rather  dubiously  from  him,  but  with 
absolute  exultation  from  her:  "Let's  wreck  the 
train!" 

"I  don't  follow  you,  sweetheart." 

"Don't  you  see?"  she  began  excitedly.  "When 
there  are  train  wrecks  a  lot  of  people  get  killed,  and 


THE  TRAIN  WRECKER  183 

things.  A  minister  always  turns  up  to  administer  the 
last  something  or  other — well " 

"Well?" 

"Well,  stupid,  don't  you  see?  We  wreck  a  train, 
a  minister  comes,  we  nab  him,  he  marries  us,  and — 
there  we  are!  Everything's  lovely!" 

He  gave  her  one  of  those  looks  with  which  a  man 
usually  greets  what  a  woman  calls  an  inspiration. 
He  did  not  honor  her  invention  with  analysis.  He 
simply  put  forward  an  objection  to  it,  and,  man-like, 
chose  the  most  hateful  of  all  objections: 

"It's  a  lovely  idea,  but  the  wreck  would  delay  us 
for  hours  and  hours,  and  I'd  miss  my  transport " 

"Harry  Mallory,  if  you  mention  that  odious  trans- 
port to  me  again,  I  know  I'll  have  hydrophobia. 
I'm  going  home." 

"But,  darling,"  he  pleaded,  "you  can't  desert  me 
now,  and  leave  me  to  go  on  alone?"  She  had  her 
answer  glib : 

"If  you  really  loved  me,  you'd " 

"Oh,  I  know,"  he  cut  in.  "You've  said  that 
before.  But  I'd  be  court-martialled.  I'd  lose  my 


career." 


"What's  a  career  to  a  man  who  truly  loves?" 
"It's  just  as  much  as  it  is  to  anybody  else — and 

more." 

She  could  hardly  controvert  this  gracefully,  so  she 

sank  back  with  grim  resignation.     "Well,  I've  pro- 


EXCUSE  ME! 

posed  my  plan,  and  you  don't  like  it.    Now,  suppose 
you  propose  something." 

The  silence  was  oppressive.  They  sat  like  stough- 
ton  bottles.  There  the  conductor  found  them  some 
time  later.  He  gave  them  a  careless  look,  selected 
a  chair  at  the  end  of  the  car,  and  began  to  sort  his 
tickets,  spreading  them  out  on  another  chair,  making 
notes  with  the  pencil  he  took  from  atop  his  ear,  and 
shoved  back  from  time  to  time. 

Ages  seemed  to  pass,  and  Mallory  had  not  even 
a  suggestion.  By  this  time  Marjorie's  temper  had 
evaporated,  and  when  he  said:  "If  we  co.uld  only 
stop  at  some  town  for  half  an  hour,"  she  said: 
"Maybe  the  conductor  would  hold  the  train  for  us." 

"I  hardly  think  he  would." 

"He  looks  like  an  awfully  nice  man.  You  ask 
him." 

"Oh,  what's  the  use?" 

Marjorie  was  getting  tired  of  depending  on  this 
charming  young  man  with  the  very  bad  luck.  She 
decided  to  assume  command  herself.  She  took  re- 
course naturally  to  the  original  feminine  methods : 
"I'll  take  care  of  him,"  she  said,  with  resolution. 
"A  woman  can  get  a  man  to  do  almost  anything  if 
she  flirts  a  little  with  him." 

"Marjorie!" 

"Now,  don't  you  mind  anything  I  do.  Remember, 
it's  all  for  love  of  you — even  if  I  have  to  kiss  him." 

"Marjorie,  I  won't  permit " 


THE  TRAIN  WRECKER  185 

"You  have  no  right  to  boss  me — yet.  You  sub- 
side." She  gave  him  the  merest  touch,  but  he  fell 
backward  into  a  chair,  utterly  aghast  at  the  shame- 
less siren  into  which  desperation  had  altered  the 
timid  little  thing  he  thought  he  had  chosen  to  love. 
He  was  being  rapidly  initiated  into  the  complex  and 
versatile  and  fearfully  wonderful  thing  a  woman 
really  is,  and  he  was  saying  to  himself,  "What  have 
I  married?"  forgetting,  for  the  moment,  that  he  had 
not  married  her  yet,  and  that  therein  lay  the  whole 
trouble. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DELILAH  AND  THE  CONDUCTOR 

LIKE  the  best  of  women  and  the  worst  of  men, 
Marjorie  was  perfectly  willing  to  do  evil,  that  good 
might  come  of  it.  She  advanced  on  the  innocent  con- 
ductor, as  the  lady  from  Sorek  must  have  sidled  up  to 
Samson,  coquetting  with  one  arch  hand  and  snipping 
the  shears  with  the  other. 

The  stupefied  Mallory  saw  Marjorie  in  a  startling 
imitation  of  herself  at  her  sweetest;  only  now  it  was 
brazen  mimicry,  yet  how  like!  She  went,  forward 
as  the  shyest  young  thing  in  the  world,  pursed  her 
lips  into  an  ecstatic  simper,  and  began  on  the  unsus- 
pecting official : 

"Isn't  the  country  perfectly " 

"Yes,  but  I'm  getting  used  to  it,"  the  conductor 
growled,  without  looking  up. 

His  curt  indifference  jolted  Marjorie  a  trifle,  but 
she  rallied  her  forces,  and  came  back  with:  "How 
long  do  we  stop  at  Ogden?" 

"Five  minutes,"  very  bluntly. 

Marjorie  poured  maple^  syrup  on  her  tone,  as  she 
purred:  "This  train  of  yours  is  an  awfully  fast  train, 
isn't  it?" 

180 


DELILAH  AND  THE  CONDUCTOR      187 

"Sort  of,"  said  the  conductor,  with  just  a  trace  of 
thaw.  What  followed  made  him  hold  his  breath, 
for  the  outrageous  little  hussy  was  actually  saying: 
"The  company  must  have  a  great  deal  of  confidence 
in  you  to  entrust  the  lives  and  welfare  of  so  many 
people  to  your  presence  of  mind  and  courage." 

"Well,  of  course,  I  can't  say  as  to  that "  Even 

Mallory  could  see  that  the  man's  reserve  was  melt- 
ing fast  as  Marjorie  went  on  with  relentless  treacle: 

"Talk  about  soldiers  and  firemen  and  life-savers! 
I  think  it  takes  a  braver  man  than  any  of  those  to  be 
a  -conductor — really." 

"Well,  it  is  a  kind  of  a  responsible  job."  The 
conductor  swelled  his  chest  a  little  at  that,  and  Mar- 
jorie felt  that  he  was  already  hers.  She  hammered 
the  weak  spot  in  his  armor: 

"Responsible!  I  should  say  it  is.  Mr.  Mallory 
is  a  soldier,  but  soldiers  are  such  ferocious,  destruc- 
tive people,  while  conductors  save  lives,  and — if  I 
were  only  a  man  I  think  it  would  be  my  greatest 
ambition  to  be  a  conductor — especially  on  an  over- 
land express." 

The  conductor  told  the  truth,  when  he  confessed: 
"Well,  I  never  heard  it  put  just  that  way."  Then 
he  spoke  with  a  little  more  pride,  hoping  to  increase 
the  impression  he  felt  he  was  making:  "The  main 
thing,  of  course,  is  to  get  my  train  through  On 
Time!" 

This  was  a  facer.    He  was  going  to  get  his  train 


188  EXCUSE  ME! 

through  On  Time  just  to  oblige  Marjorie.  She  stam- 
mered: 

"I  don't  suppose  the  train,  by  any  accident,  would 
be  delayed  in  leaving  Ogden?" 

"Not  if  I  can  help  it,"  the  hero  averred,  to  reas- 
sure her. 

"I  wish  it  would,"  Marjorie  murmured. 

The  conductor  looked  at  her  in  surprise:  "Why, 
what's  it  to  you?"  She  turned  her  eyes  on  him  at 
full  candle  power,  and  smiled: 

"Oh,  I  just  wanted  to  do  a  little  shopping  there." 

"Shopping !    While  the  train  waits !    Excuse  me !" 

"You  see,"  Marjorie  fluttered,  "by  a  sad  mistake, 
my  baggage  isn't  on  the  train.  And  I  haven't  any 
— any — I  really  need  to  buy  some — some  things  very 
badly.  It's  awfully  embarrassing  to  be  without 
them." 

"I  can  imagine,"  the  conductor  mumbled.  "Why 
don't  you  and  your  husband  drop  off  and  take  the 
next  train?" 

"My  husb — Mr.  Mallory  has  to  be  in  San  Fran- 
cisco by  to-morrow  night.  He  just  has  to!" 

"So  have  I." 

"But  to  oblige  me?  To  save  me  from  distress — 
don't  you  think  you  could  ?"  Like  a  sweet  little  child 
she  twisted  one  of  the  brass  buttons  on  his  coat 
sleeve,  and  wheedled:  "Don't  you  think  you  might 
hold  the  train  just  a  little  tiny  half  hour?" 

He  was  sorry,  but  he  didn't  see  how  he  could. 


DELILAH  AND  THE  CONDUCTOR      189 

Then  she  took  his  breath  away  again  by  asking,  out 
of  a  clear  sky:  "Are  you  married?" 

He  was  as  awkward  as  if  she  had  proposed  to 
him,  she  answered  for  him:  "Oh,  but  of  course  you 
are.  The  women  wouldn't  let  a  big,  handsome,  noble 
brave  giant  like  you  escape  long."  He  mopped  his 
brow  in  agony  as  she  went  on:  "I'm  sure  you're  a 
very  chivalrous  man.  I'm  sure  you  would  give  your 
life  to  rescue  a  maiden  in  distress.  Well,  here's  your 
chance.  Won't  you  please  hold  the  train?" 

She  actually  had  her  cheek  almost  against  his 
shoulder,  though  she  had  to  poise  atiptoe  to  reach 
him.  Mallory's  dismay  was  changing  to  a  boiling 
rage,  and  the  conductor  was  a  pitiable  combination 
of  Saint  Anthony  and  Tantalus.  "I — I'd  love  to 
oblige  you,"  he  mumbled,  "but  it  would  be  as  much 
as  my  job's  worth." 

"How  much  is  that?"  Marjorie  asked,  and  added 
reassuringly,  "If  you  lost  your  job  I'm  sure  my  father 
would  get  you  a  better  one." 

"Maybe,"  said  the  conductor,  "but — I  got  this 
one." 

Then  his  rolling  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  supposed 
husband  gesticulating  wildly  and  evidently  clearing 
for  action.  He  warned  Marjorie:  "Say,  your  hus- 
band is  motioning  at  you." 

"Don't  mind  him,"  Marjorie  urged,  "just  listen 

to  me.  I  implore  you.  I "  Seeing  that  he  was 

still  resisting,  she  played  her  last  card,  and,  crying, 


190  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Oh,  you  can't  resist  my  prayers  so  cruelly,"  she 
threw  her  arms  around  his  neck,  sobbing,  "Do  you 
want  to  break  my  heart?" 

Mallory  rushed  into  the  scene  and  the  conductor, 
tearing  Marjorie's  arms  loose,  retreated,  gasping, 
"No !  and  I  don't  want  your  husband  to  break  my 
head." 

Mallory  dragged  Marjorie  away,  but  she  shook 
her  little  fist  at  the  conductor,  crying:  "Do  you 
refuse?  Do  you  dare  refuse?" 

"I've  got  to,"  the  conductor  abjectly  insisted. 

Marjorie  blazed  with  fury  and  the  siren  became 
a  Scylla.  "Then  I'll  see  that  my  father  gets  you  dis- 
charged. If  you  dare  to  speak  to  me  again,  I'll 
order  my  husband  to  throw  you  off  this  train.  To 
think  of  being  refused  a  simple  little  favor  by  a 
mere  conductor!  of  a  stupid  old  emigrant  train!!  of 
all  things!!!" 

Then  she  hurled  herself  into  a  chair  and  pounded 
her  heels  on  the  floor  in  a  tantrum  that  paralyzed 
Mallory.  Even  the  conductor  tapped  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  said:  "You  have  my  sympathy." 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE  DOG-ON  DOG  AGAIN 

As  the  conductor  left  the  Mallorys  to  their  own 
devices,  it  rushed  over  him  anew  what  sacrilege  had 
been  attempted — a  fool  bride  had  asked  him  to  stop 
the  Trans-American  of  all  trains! — to  go  shopping 
of  all  things ! 

He  stormed  into  the  smoking  room  to  open  the 
safety  valve  of  his  wrath,  and  found  the  porter  just 
coming  out  of  the  buffet  cell  with  a  tray,  two  hollow- 
stemmed  glasses  and  a  bottle  swaddled  in  a  napkin. 

"Say,  Ellsworth,  what  in  do  you  suppose 

that  female  back  there  wants? — wants  me  to  hold 
the  Trans-American  while " 

But  the  porter  was  in  a  flurry  himself.  He  was 
about  to  serve  champagne,  and  he  cut  the  conductor 
short : 

"  'Scuse  me,  boss,  but  they's  a  lovin'  couple  in  the 
stateroom  forward  that  is  in  a  powerful  hurry  for 
this.  I  can't  talk  to  you  now.  I'll  see  you  later." 
And  he  swaggered  off,  leaving  the  door  of  the  buffet 
open.  The  conductor  paused  to  close  it,  glanced  in, 
started,  stared,  glared,  roared:  "What's  this! 
Well,  I'll  be — a  dog  smuggled  in  here!  I'll  break 

191 


192  EXCUSE  ME! 

that  coon's  head.  Come  out  of  there,  you  miserable 
or'nary  hound."  He  seized  the  incredulous  Snoozle- 
ums  by  the  scruff  of  his  neck,  growling,  "It's  you 
for  the  baggage  car  ahead,"  and  dashed  out  with 
his  prey,  just  as  Mallory,  now  getting  new  bearings 
on  Marjorie's  character,  spoke  across  the  rampart 
of  his  Napoleonically  folded  arms: 

"Well,  you're  a  nice  one ! — making  violent  love 
to  a  conductor  before  my  very  eyes.  A  minute  more 
and  I  would  have " 

She  silenced  him  with  a  snap:  "Don't  you  speak 
to  me!  I  hate  you!  I  hate  all  men.  The  more  I 

know  men  the  more  I  like "  this  reminded  her, 

and  she  asked  anxiously:  "Where  is  Snoozleums?" 

Mallory,  impatient  at  the  shift  of  subject,  snapped 
back:  "Oh,  I  left  him  in  the  buffet  with  the  waiter. 
What  I  want  to  know  is  how  you  dare  to " 

"Was  it  a  colored  waiter?" 

"Of  course.    But  I'm  not  speaking  of " 

"But  suppose  he  should  bite  him?" 

"Oh,  you  can't  hurt  those  nigger  waiters.  I 
started  to  say " 

"But  I  can't  have  Snoozleums  biting  colored 
people.  It  might  not  agree  with  him.  Get  him  at 
once." 

Mallory  trembled  with  suppressed  rage  like  an 
overloaded  boiler,  but  he  gave  up  and  growled: 
"Oh,  Lord,  all  right.  I'll  get  him  when  I've  fin- 
ished  " 


THE  DOG-ON  DOG  AGAIN  193 

"Go  get  him  this  minute.  And  bring  the  poor  dar- 
ting back  to  his  mother." 

"His  mother!  Ye  gods!"  cried  Mallory,  wildly. 
He  turned  away  and  dashed  into  the  men's  room 
with  a  furious:  "Where's  that  damned  dog?" 

He  met  the  porter  just  returning.  The  porter 
smiled:  "He's  right  in  heah,  sir,"  and  opened  the 
buffet  door.  His  eyes  popped  and  his  jaw  sagged: 
"Why,  I  lef  him  here  just  a  minute  ago." 

"You  left  the  window  open,  too,"  Mallory  ob- 
served. "Well,  I  guess  he's  gone." 

The  porter  was  panic  stricken:  "Oh,  I'm  turrible 
sorry,  boss,  I  wouldn't  have  lost  dat  dog  for  a  for- 
tune. If  you  was  to  hit  me  with  a  axe  I  wouldn't 
mind." 

To  his  utter  befuddlement,  Mallory  grinned  and 
winked  at  him,  and  murmured:  "Oh,  that's  all 
right.  Don't  worry."  And  actually  laid  half  a  dol- 
lar in  his  palm.  Leaving  the  black  lids  batting  over 
the  starting  eyes,  Mallory  pulled  his  smile  into  a 
long  face  and  went  back  to  Marjorie  like  an  under- 
taker: "My  love,  prepare  yourself  for  bad  news." 

Marjorie  looked  up,  startled  and  apprehensive: 
"Snoozleums  is  ill.  He  did  bite  the  darkey." 

"Worse  than  that — he — he — fell  out  of  the  win- 
dow." 

"When!"  she  shrieked,  "in  heaven's  name — 
when?" 

"He  was  there  just  a  minute  ago,  the  waiter  says." 


194  EXCUSE  ME! 

Marjorie  went  into  instant  hysterics,  wringing  her 
hands  and  sobbing :  "Oh,  my  darling,  my  poor  child 
— stop  the  train  at  once!" 

She  began  to  pound  Mallory's  shoulders  and 
shake  him  frantically.  He  had  never  seen  her  this 
way  either.  He  was  getting  his  education  in  advance. 
He  tried  to  calm  her  with  inexpert  words:  "How 
can  I  stop  the  train?  Now,  dearie,  he  was  a  nice 
dog,  but  after  all,  he  was  only  a  dog." 

She  rounded  on  him  like  a  panther :  "Only  a  dog ! 
He  was  worth  a  dozen  men  like  you.  You  find  the 
conductor  at  once,  command  him  to  stop  this  train — 
and  back  up!  I  don't  care  if  he  has  to  go  back  ten 
miles.  Run,  tell  him  at  once.  Now,  you  run!" 

Mallory  stared  at  her  as  if  she  had  gone  mad, 
but  he  set  out  to  run  somewhere,  anywhere.  Mar- 
jorie paced  up  and  down  distractedly,  tearing  her 
hair  and  moaning,  "Snoozleums,  Snoozleums!  My 
child.  My  poor  child !"  At  length  her  wildly  roving 
eyes  noted  the  bell  rope.  She  stared,  pondered, 
nodded  her  head,  clutched  at  it,  could  not  reach  it, 
jumped  for  it  several  times  in  vain,  then  seized  a 
chair,  swung  it  into  place,  stood  up  in  it,  gripped 
the  rope,  and  came  down  on  it  with  all  her  weight, 
dropping  to  the  floor  and  jumping  up  and  down 
in  a  frenzied  dance.  In  the  distance  the  engine  could 
be  heard  faintly  whistling,  whistling  for  every 
pull. 

The  engineer,  far  ahead,  could  not  imagine  what 


THE  DOG-ON  DOG  AGAIN  195 

unheard-of  crisis  could  bring  about  such  mad  signals. 
The  fireman  yelled: 

"I  bet  that  crazy  conductor  is  attacked  with  an 
epilettic  fit." 

But  there  was  no  disputing  the  command.  The 
engine  was  reversed,  the  air  brakes  set,  the  sand  run 
out  and  every  effort  made  to  pull  the  iron  horse,  as 
it  were,  back  on  its  haunches. 

The  grinding,  squealing,  jolting,  shook  the  train 
like  an  earthquake.  The  shrieking  of  the  whistle 
froze  the  blood  like  a  woman's  cry  of  "Murder!" 
in  the  night.  The  women  among  the  passengers 
echoed  the  screams.  The  men  turned  pale  and 
braced  themselves  for  the  shock  of  collision.  Some 
of  them  were  mumbling  prayers.  Dr.  Temple  and 
Jimmie  Wellington,  with  one  idea  in  their  dissimilar 
souls,  dashed  from  the  smoking  room  to  go  to  their 
wives. 

Ashton  and  Wedgewood,  with  no  one  to  care  for 
but  themselves,  seized  windows  and  tried  to  fight 
them  open.  At  last  they  budged  a  sash  and  knelt 
down  to  thrust  their  heads  out. 

"I  don't  see  a  beastly  thing  ahead,"  said  Wedge- 
wood,  "except  the  heads  of  other  fools." 

"We're  slowing  down  though,"  said  Ashton,  "she 
stops!  We're  safe.  Thank  God!"  And  he  col- 
lapsed  into  a  chair.  Wedgewood  collapsed  into  an- 
other, gasping:  "Whatevah  are  we  safe  from,  I 
wondah?" 


196  EXCUSE  ME! 

The  train-crew  and  various  passengers  descended 
and  ran.  alongside  the  train  asking  questions.  Panic 
gave  way  to  mystery.  Even  Dr.  Temple  came  back 
into  the  smoking  room  to  finish  a  precious  cigar  he 
had  been  at  work  on.  He  was  followed  by  Little 
Jimmie,  who  had  not  quite  reached  his  wife  when 
the  stopping  of  the  train  put  an  end  to  his  excuse 
for  chivalry.  He  was  regretfully  mumbling: 

"It  would  have  been  such  a  good  shansh  to  shave 
my  life's  wife — I  mean  my — I  don't  know  what  I 
mean."  He  sank  into  a  chair  and  ordered  a  drink; 
then  suddenly  remembered  his  vow,  and  with  great 
heroism,  rescinded  the  order. 

Mallory,  finding  that  the  train  was  checked  just 
before  he  reached  the  conductor,  saw  that  official's 
bewildered  wrath  at  the  stoppage  and  had  a  fear- 
some intuition  that  Marjorie  had  somehow  done  the 
deed.  He  hurried  back  to  the  observation  room, 
where  he  found  her  charging  up  and  down,  still  dis- 
traught. He  paused  at  a  safe  distance  and  said: 

"The  train  has  stopped,  my  dear.  Somebody  rang 
the  bell." 

"I  guess  somebody  did !"  Marjorie  answered,  with 
a  proud  toss  of  the  head.  "Where's  the  conductor?" 

"He's  looking  for  the  fellow  that  pulled  the 
rope." 

"You  go  tell  him  to  back  up — and  slowly,  too." 

"No,  thank  you !"  said  Mallory.  He  was  a  biave 
young  man,  but  he  was  not  bearding  the  conductors 


THE  DOG-ON  DOG  AGAIN  197 

of  stopped  expresses.  Already  the  conductor's  voice 
was  heard  in  the  smoking  room,  where  he  appeared 
with  the  rush  and  roar  of  a  Bashan  bull.  "Well!" 
he  bellowed,  "which  one  of  you  guys  pulled  that 
rope?" 

"It  was  nobody  here,  sir,"  Dr.  Temple  meekly 
explained.  The  conductor  transfixed  him  with  a 
baleful  glare:  "I  wouldn't  believe  a  gambler  on 
oath.  I  bet  you  did  it." 

"I  assure  you,  sir,"  Wedgewood  interposed,  "he 
didn't  touch  it.  I  was  heah." 

The  conductor  waved  him  aside  and  charged  into 
the  observation  room,  followed  by  all  the  passen- 
gers in  an  awe  struck  rabble.  Here,  too,  the  conduc- 
tor thundered:  "Who  pulled  that  rope?  Speak  up 
somebody." 

Mallory  was  about  to  sacrifice  himself  to  save 
Marjorie,  but  she  met  the  conductor's  black  rage 
with  the  withering  contempt  of  a  young  queen:  "I 
pulled  the  old  rope.  Whom  did  you  suppose?" 

The  conductor  almost  dropped  with  apoplexy  at 
finding  himself  with  nobody  to  vent  his  immense  rage 
on,  but  this  pink  and  white  slip.  "You!"  he  gulped, 

"well,  what  in Say,  in  the  name  of — why,  don't 

you  know  it's  a  penitentiary  offense  to  stop  a  train 
this  way?" 

Marjorie  tossed  her  head  a  little  higher,  grew  a 
little  calmer:  "What  do  I  care?  I  want  you  to 
back  up." 


198  EXCUSE  ME! 

The  conductor  was  reduced  to  a  wet  rag,  a  feeble 
echo:  "Back  up — the  tram  up?" 

"Yes,  back  the  train  up,"  Marjorie  answered,  res- 
olutely, "and  go  slowly  till  I  tell  you  to  stop." 

The  conductor  stared  at  her  a  moment,  then 
whirled  on  Mallory :  "Say,  what  in  hell's  the  matter 
with  your  wife?" 

Mallory  was  saved  from  the  problem  of  answer- 
ing by  Marjorie's  abrupt  change  from  a  young  Tsar- 
ina rebuking  a  serf,  to  a  terrified  mother.  She  flung 
out  imploring  palms  and  with  a  gush  of  tears 
pleaded:  "Won't  you  please  back  up?  My  darling 
child  fell  off  the  train." 

The  conductor's  rage  fell  away  in  an  instant. 
"Your  child  fell  off  the  train!"  he  gasped.  "Good 
Lord!  How  old  was  he?" 

With  one  hand  he  was  groping  for  the  bell  cord 
to  give  the  signal,  with  the  other  he  opened  the  door 
to  look  back  along  the  track. 

"He  was  two  years  old,"  Marjorie  sobbed. 

"Oh,  that's  too  bad!"  the  conductor  groaned. 
"What  did  he  look  like?" 

"He  had  a  pink  ribbon  round  his  neck." 

"A  pink  ribbon — oh,  the  poor  little  fellow!  the 
poor  little  fellow!" 

"And  a  long  curly  tail." 

The  conductor  swung  round  with  a  yell :  "A  curly 
tail! — your  son?" 

"My  dog!"  Marjorie  roared  back  at  him. 


THE  DOG-ON  DOG  AGAIN  199 

The  conductor's  voice  cracked  weakly  as  he 
shrieked:  "Your  dog!  You  stopped  this  train  for 
a  fool  dog?" 

"He  wasn't  a  fool  dog,"  Marjorie  retorted,  facing 
him  down,  "he  knows  more  than  you  do." 

The  conductor  threw  up  his  hands :  "Well,  don't 

you  women  beat '  He  studied  Marjorie  as  if 

she  were  some  curious  freak  of  nature.  Suddenly  an 
idea  struck  into  his  daze :  "Say,  what  kind  of  a  dog 
was  it? — a  measly  little  cheese-hound?" 

"He  was  a  noble,  beautiful  soul  with  wonderful 
eyes  and  adorable  ears." 

The  conductor  was  growing  weaker  and  weaker: 
"Well,  don't  worry.  I  got  him.  He's  in  the  bag- 
gage car." 

Marjorie  stared  at  him  unbelievingly.  The  news 
seemed  too  gloriously  beautiful  to  be  true.  "He 
isn't  dead — Snoozleums  is  not  dead!"  she  cried,  "he 
lives !  He  lives !  You  have  saved  him."  And  once 
more  she  flung  herself  upon  the  conductor.  He 
tried  to  bat  her  off  like  a  gnat,  and  Mallory  came 
to  his  rescue  by  dragging  her  away  and  shoving  her 
into  a  chair.  But  she  saw  only  the  noble  conductor: 
"Oh,  you  dear,  good,  kind  angel.  Get  him  at 
once." 

"He  stays  in  the  baggage  car,"  the  conductor  an- 
swered, firmly  and  as  he  supposed,  finally. 

"But  Snoozleums  doesn't  like  baggage  cars,"  Mar- 
jorie smiled.  "He  won't  ride  in  one." 


200  EXCUSE  ME! 

"He'll  ride  in  this  one  or  I'll  wring  his  neck." 

"You  fiend  in  human  flesh!"  Marjorie  shrank 
away  from  him  in  horror,  and  he  found  courage  to 
seize  the  bell  rope  and  yank  it  viciously  with  a  sar- 
donic: "Please,  may  I  start  this  train?" 

The  whistle  tooted  faintly.  The  bell  began  to 
hammer,  the  train  to  creak  and  writhe  and  click. 
The  conductor  pulled  his  cap  down  hard  and  started 
forward.  Marjorie  seized  his  sleeve:  "Oh,  I  im- 
plore you,  don't  consign  that  poor  sweet  child  to  the 
horrid  baggage  car.  If  you  have  a  human  heart  in 
your  breast,  hear  my  prayer." 

The  conductor  surrendered  unconditionally :  "Oh, 
Lord,  all  right,  all  right.  I'll  lose  my  job,  but  if 
you'll  keep  quiet,  I'll  bring  him  to  you."  And  he 
slunk  out  meekly,  followed  by  the  passengers,  wrho 
were  shaking  their  heads  in  wonderment  at  this  most 
amazing  feat  of  this  most  amazing  bride. 

When  they  were  alone  once  more,  Marjorie  as 
radiant  as  April  after  a  storm,  turned  her  sunshiny 
smile  on  Mallory: 

"Isn't  it  glorious  to  have  our  little  Snoozleums 
alive  and  well  ?" 

But  Mallory  was  feeling  like  a  March  day.  He 
answered  with  a  sleety  chill:  "You  care  more  for 
the  dog  than  you  do  for  me." 

"Why  shouldn't  I  ?"  Marjorie  answered  with  wide 
eyes,  "Snoozleums  never  would  have  brought  me  on 


THE  DOG-ON  DOG  AGAIN  201 

a  wild  goose  elopement  like  this.  Heaven  knows 
he  didn't  want  to  come." 

Mallory  repeated  the  indictment:  "You  love  a 
dog  better  than  you  love  your  husband." 

"My  what?"  Marjorie  laughed,  then  she  spoke 
with  lofty  condescension :  "Harry  Mallory,  if  you're 
going  to  be  jealous  of  that  dog,  I'll  never  marry 
you  the  longest  day  I  live." 

"So  you'll  let  a  dog  come  between  us?"  he  de- 
manded. 

"I  wouldn't  give  up  Snoozleums  for  a  hundred 
husbands,"  she  retorted. 

"I'm  glad  to  know  it  in  time,"  Mallory  said. 
"You'd  better  give  me  back  that  wedding  ring." 

Marjorie's  heart  stopped  at  this,  but  her  pride 
was  in  arms.  She  drew  herself  up,  slid  the  ring 
from  her  finger,  and  held  it  out  as  if  she  scorned  it: 
"With  pleasure.  Good  afternoon,  Mr.  Mallory." 

Mallory  took  it  as  if  it  were  the  merest  trifle, 
bowed  and  murmured:  "Good  afternoon,  Miss 
Newton." 

He  stalked  out  and  she  turned  her  back  on  him. 
A  casual  witness  would  have  said  that  they  were  too 
indifferent  to  each  other  even  to  feel  anger.  As  a 
matter  of  romantic  fact,  each  was  on  fire  with  love, 
and  aching  madly  with  regret.  Each  longed  for 
strength  to  whirl  round  with  outflung  arms  of  recon- 
ciliation, and  neither  could  be  so  brave.  And  so 
they  parted,  each  harking  back  fiercely  for  one  word 


202  EXCUSE  ME! 

of  recall  from  the  other.  But  neither  spoke,  and 
Marjorie  sat  staring  at  nothing  through  raining  eyes, 
while  Mallory  strode  into  the  Men's  Room  as  mel- 
ancholy as  Hamlet  with  Yorick's  skull  in  his  hands. 
It  was  their  first  great  quarrel,  and  they  were 
sonvinced  that  the  world  might  as  well  come  to  an 
end. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 
THE  WOMAN-HATER'S  RELAPSE 

THE  observation  room  was  as  lonely  as  a  de- 
serted battle-field  and  Marjorie  as  doleful  as  a 
grounded  soldier  left  behind,  and  perishing  of  thirst, 
when  the  conductor  came  back  with  Snoozleums  in 
his  arms. 

He  regarded  with  contemptuous  awe  the  petty 
cause  of  so  great  an  event  as  the  stopping  of  the 
Trans-American.  He  expected  to  see  Marjorie  re- 
ceive the  returned  prodigal  with  wild  rapture,  but 
she  didn't  even  smile  when  he  said: 

"Here's  your  powder-puff." 

She  just  took  Snoozleums  on  her  lap,  and,  looking 
up  with  wet  eyes  and  a  sad  smile,  murmured: 

"Thank  you  very  much.  You're  the  nicest  con- 
ductor I  ever  met.  If  you  ever  want  another  posi- 
tion, I'll  see  that  my  father  gets  you  one." 

It  was  like  offering  the  Kaiser  a  new  job,  but  the 
conductor  swallowed  the  insult  and  sought  to  repay 
it  with  irony. 

"Thanks.  And  if  you  ever  want  to  run  this  road 
for  a  couple  of  weeks,  just  let  me  know." 

203 


204  EXCUSE  ME! 

Marjorie  nodded  appreciatively  and  said :  "I  will. 
You're  very  kind." 

And  that  completed  the  rout  of  that  conductor. 
He  retired  in  disorder,  leaving  Marjorie  to  fondle 
Snoozleums  with  a  neglectful  indifference  that  would 
have  greatly  flattered  Mallory,  if  he  could  have  seen 
through  the  partition  that  divided  them. 

But  he  was  witnessing  with  the  cynical  superiority 
of  an  aged  and  disillusioned  man  the,  to  him,  childish 
behavior  of  Ira  Lathrop,  an  eleventh-hour  Or- 
lando. 

For  just  as  Mallory  moped  into  the  smoking-room 
at  one  door,  Ira  Lathrop  swept  in  at  the  other,  his 
face  rubicund  with  embarrassment  and  ecstasy.  He 
had  donned  an  old  frock  coat  with  creases  like  ruts 
from  long  exile  in  his  trunk.  But  he  was  feeling 
like  an  heir  apparent;  and  he  startled  everybody  by 
his  jovial  hail: 

"Well,  boys — er — gentlemen — the  drinks  are  on 
me.  Waiter,  take  the  orders." 

Little  Jimmie  woke  with  a  start,  rose  hastily  to 
his  feet  and  saluted,  saying:  "Present!  Who  said 
take  the  orders?" 

"I  did,"  said  Lathrop,  "I'm  giving  a  party. 
Waiter,  take  the  orders." 

"Sarsaparilla,"  said  Dr.  Temple,  but  they  howled 
him  down  and  ordered  other  things.  The  porter 
shook  his  head  sadly:  "Nothin'  but  sof  drinks  in 
Utah,  gemmen." 


THE  WOMAN-HATER'S  RELAPSE      205 

A  groan  went  up  from  the  club-members,  and 
Lathrop  groaned  loudest  of  all: 

"Well,  we've  got  to  drink  something.  Take  the 
orders.  We'll  all  have  sarsaparilla." 

Little  Jimmie  Wellington  came  to  the  rescue. 

"Don't  do  anything  desperate,  gentlemen,"  he 
said,  with  a  look  of  divine  philanthropy.  "The  bar's 
closed,  but  Little  Jimmie  Wellington  is  here  with  the 
life  preserver."  From  his  hip-pocket  he  produced  a 
silver  flask  that  looked  to  be  big  enough  to  carry  a 
regiment  through  the  Alps.  It  was  greeted  with  a 
salvo,  and  Lathrop  said  to  Jimmie:  "I  apologize 
for  everything  I  have  said — and  thought — about 
you."  He  turned  to  the  porter:  "There  ain't  any 
law  against  giving  this  away,  is  there?" 

The  porter  grinned:  "Not  if  you-all  bribe  the 
exercise-inspector."  And  he  held  out  a  glass  for  the 
bribe,  murmuring,  "Don't  git  tired,"  as  it  was 
poured.  He  set  it  inside  his  sanctum  and  then  bustled 
round  with  ice-filled  glasses  and  a  siphon. 

When  Little  Jimmie  offered  of  the  flask  to  Dr. 
Temple,  the  clergyman  put  out  his  hand  with  a  po- 
litely horrified:  "No,  thank  you." 

Lathrop  frightened  him  with  a  sudden  comment: 
"Look  at  that  gesture!  Doc,  I'd  almost  swear  you 
were  a  parson." 

Mallory  whirled  on  him  with  the  eyes  of  a  hawk 
about  to  pounce,  and  "The  very  idea!"  was  the  best 
disclaimer  Dr.  Temple  could  manage,  suddenly  find- 


206  EXCUSE  ME! 

ing  himself  suspected.  Ashton  put  in  with,  "The 
only  way  to  disprove  it,  Doc,  is  to  join  us." 

The  poor  old  clergyman,  too  deeply  involved  in 
his  deception  to  brave  confession  now,  decided  to 
do  and  dare  all.  He  stammered,  "Er — ah — cer- 
tainly," and  held  out  his  hand  for  his  share  of  the 
poison.  Little  Jimmie  winked  at  the  others  and 
almost  filled  the  glass.  The  innocent  doctor  bowed 
his  thanks.  When  the  porter  reached  him  and  pre- 
pared to  fill  the  remainder  of  the  glass  from  the 
siphon,  the  parson  waved  him  aside  with  a  misguided 
caution: 

"No,  thanks.    I'll  not  mix  them." 

Mallory  turned  away  with  a  sigh:  "He  takes 
his  straight.  He's  no  parson." 

Then  they  forgot  the  doctor  in  curiosity  as  to 
Lathrop's  sudden  spasm  of  generosity — with  Wel- 
lington's liquor.  Wedgewood  voiced  the  general  cu- 
riosity when  he  said: 

"What's  the  old  woman-hater  up  to  now?" 

"Woman-hater?"  laughed  Ira.  "It's  the  old  story. 
I'm  going  to  follow  Mallory's  example  —  mar- 
riage." 

"I  hope  you  succeed,"  said  Mallory. 

"Wherever  did  you  pick  up  the  bride?"  said 
Wedgewood,  mellowing  with  the  long  glass  in  his 
hand. 

"Brides  are  easy,"  said  Mallory,  with  surprising 
cynicism.  "Where  do  you  get  the  parson?" 


THE  WOMAN-HATER'S  RELAPSE      207 

"Hang  the  parson,"  Wedgewood  repeated, 
"Who's  the  gel?" 

"I'll  bet  I  know  who  she  is,"  Ashton  interposed; 
"it's  that  nectarine  of  a  damsel  who  got  on  at  Green 
River." 

"Not  the  same!"  Lathrop  roared.  "I  found  my 
bride  blooming  here  all  the  while.  Girl  I  used  to 
spark  back  in  Brattleboro,  Vermont.  I've  been  vow- 
ing for  years  that  I'd  live  and  die  an  old  maid.  I've 
kept  my  head  out  of  the  noose  all  this  time — till  I 
struck  this  train  and  met  up  with  Anne.  We  got 
to  talking  over  old  times — waking  up  old  sentiments. 
She  got  on  my  nerves.  I  got  on  hers.  Finally  I 
said,  'Aw,  hell,  let's  get  married.  Save  price  of  one 
stateroom  to  China  anyway.'  She  says,  'Damned  if 
I  don't!' — or  words  to  that  effect." 

Mallory  broke  in  with  feverish  interest:  "But 
you  said  you  were  going  to  get  married  on  this 


train." 


"Nothing  easier.     Here's  How!"  and  he  raised 

his  glass,  but  Mallory  hauled  it  down  to  demand: 

"How?  that's  what  I  want  to  know.    How  are  you 

going  to  get  married  on  this  parsonless  express. 

Have  you  got  a  little  minister  in  your  suitcase?" 

Ira  beamed  with  added  pride  as  he  explained: 

"Well,  you  see,  when  I  used  to  court  Anne  I  had 

a  rival — Charlie  Selby  his  name  was.     I  thought  he 

cut  me  out,  but  he  became  a  clergyman  in  Utah — Oh, 

Charlie!     I    telegraphed    him    that   I   was   passing 


208  EXCUSE  ME! 

through  Ogden,  and  would  he  come  down  to  the 
train  and  marry  me  to  a  charming  lady.  He  always 
wanted  to  marry  Anne.  I  thought  it  would  be  a 
durned  good  joke  to  let  him  marry  her — to  me." 

"D-did  he  accept?"  Mallory  asked,  excitedly,  "is 
he  coming?" 

"He  is — he  did — here's  his  telegram,"  said  Ira. 
"He  brings  the  license  and  the  ring."  He  passed 
it  over,  and  as  Mallory  read  it  a  look  of  hope  spread 
across  his  face.  But  Ira  was  saying:  "We're  going 
to  have  the  wedding  obsequies  right  here  in  this  car. 
You're  all  invited.  Will  you  come?" 

There  was  a  general  yell  of  acceptance  and  Ash- 
ton  began  to  sing,  "There  was  I  waiting  at  the 
church."  Then  he  led  a  sort  of  Indian  war-dance 
round  the  next  victim  of  the  matrimonial  stake.  At 
the  end  of  the  hullaballoo  all  the  men  charged  their 
glasses,  and  drained  them  with  an  uproarious 
"How!" 

Poor  Doctor  Temple  had  taken  luxurious  delight 
in  the  success  of  his  disguise  and  in  the  prospect  of 
watching  some  other  clergyman  working  while  he 
rested.  He  joined  the  dance  as  ga'ily,  if  not  as 
gracefully,  as  any  of  the  rest,  and  in  a  final  triumph 
of  recklessness,  he  tossed  off  a  bumper  of  straight 
whisky. 

Instantly  his  "How!"  changed  to  "Wow!"  and 
then  his  throat  clamped  fast  with  a  terrific  spasm 
that  flung  the  tears  from  his  eyes.  He  bent  and 


THE  WOMAN-HATER'S  RELAPSE       209 

writhed  in  a  silent  paroxysm  till  he  was  pounded  and 
shaken  back  to  life  and  water  poured  down  his  throat 
to  reopen  a  passage. 

The  others  thought  he  had  merely  choked  and 
made  no  comment  other  than  sympathy.  They  could 
not  have  dreamed  that  the  old  "physician"  was  as 
ignorant  of  the  taste  as  of  the  vigor  of  pure 
spirits. 

After  a  riot  of  handshaking  and  good  wishes,  Ira 
was  permitted  to  escape  with  his  life.  Mallory  fol- 
lowed him  to  the  vestibule,  where  he  caught  him 
by  the  sleeve  with  an  anxious: 

"Excuse  me." 

"Well,  my  boy " 

"Your  minister — after  you  get  through  with  him 
— may  I  use  him  ?" 

"May  you — what?  Why  do  you  want  a  minis- 
ter?" 

"To  get  married." 

"Again?    Good  Lord,  are  you  a  Mormon?" 

"Me  a  Mormon!" 

"Then  what  do  you  want  with  an  extra  wife  ?  It's 
against  the  law — even  in  Utah." 

"You  don't  understand." 

"My  boy,  one  of  us  is  disgracefully  drunk." 

"Well,  I'm  not,"  said  Mallory,  and  then  after  a 
fierce  inner  debate,  he  decided  to  take  Lathrop  into 
his  confidence.  The  words  came  hard  after  so  long 
a  duplicity,  but  at  last  they  were  out: 


210  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Mr.  Lathrop,  I'm  not  really  married  t*  my 
wife." 

"You  young  scoundrel !" 

But  his  fury  changed  to  pity  when  he  heard  the 
history  of  Mallory's  ill-fated  efforts,  and  he  prom- 
ised not  only  to  lend  Mallory  his  minister  at  second- 
hand, but  also  to  keep  the  whole  affair  a  secret,  for 
Mallory  explained  his  intention  of  having  his  own 
ceremony  in  the  baggage-car,  or  somewhere  out  of 
sight  of  the  other  passengers. 

Mallory's  face  was  now  aglow  as  the  cold  embers 
of  hope  leaped  into  sudden  blaze.  He  wrung  La- 
throp's  hand,  saying:  "Lord  love  you,  you've  saved 
my  life — wife — both." 

Then  he  turned  and  ran  to  Marjorie  with  the  good 
news.  He  had  quite  forgotten  their  epoch-making 
separation.  And  she  was  so  glad  to  see  him  smiling 
at  her  again  that  she  forgot  it,  too.  He  came  tear- 
ing into  the  observation  room  and  took  her  by  the 
shoulders,  whispering:  "Oh,  Marjorie,  Marjorie, 
I've  got  him!  I've  got  him!" 

"No,  I've  got  him,"  she  said,  swinging  Snoozleums 
into  view. 

Mallory  swung  him  back  out  of  the  way :  "I  don't 
mean  a  poodle,  I  mean  a  parson.  I've  got  a  par- 
son." 

"No!  I  can't  believe  it!  Where  is  he?"  She 
began  to  dance  with  delight,  but  she  stopped  when 
he  explained: 


THE  WOMAN-HATER'S  RELAPSE      211 

"Well,  I  haven't  got  him  yet,  but  I'm  going  to 
get  one." 

"What — again?"  she  groaned,  weary  of  this  old 
bunco  game  of  hope. 

"It's  a  real  live  one  this  time,"  Mallory  insisted. 
"Mr.  Lathrop  has  ordered  a  minister  and  he's  going 
to  lend  him  to  me  as  soon  as  he's  through  with  him, 
and  we'll  be  married  on  this  train." 

Marjorie  was  overwhelmed,  but  she  felt  it  becom- 
ing in  her  to  be  a  trifle  coy.  So  she  pouted:  "But 
you  won't  want  me  for  a  bride  now.  I'm  such  a 
fright." 

He  took  the  bait,  hook  and  all:  "I  never  saw 
you  looking  so  adorable." 

"Honestly?  Oh,  but  it  will  be  glorious  to  be  Mrs. 
First  Lieutenant  Mallory." 

"Glorious!" 

"I  must  telegraph  home — and  sign  my  new  name. 
Won't  mamma  be  pleased?" 

"Won't  she?"  said  Mallory,  with  just  a  trace  of 
dubiety. 

Then  Marjorie  grew  serious  with  a  new  idea :  "I 
wonder  if  mamma  and  papa  have  missed  me  yet?" 

Mallory  laughed:  "After  three  days'  disappear- 
ance, I  shouldn't  be  surprised." 

"Perhaps  they  are  worrying  about  me." 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised." 

"The  poor  dears!  I'd  better  write  them  a  tele- 
gram at  once." 


212  EXCUSE  ME! 

"An  excellent  idea." 

She  ran  to  the  desk,  found  blank  forms  and  then 
paused  with  knitted  brow:  "It  will  be  very  hard  to 
say  all  I've  got  to  say  in  ten  words." 

"Hang  the  expense,"  Mallory  sniffed  magnifi- 
cently, "I'm  paying  your  bills  now." 

But  Marjorie  tried  to  look  very  matronly:  "Send 
r  night  letter  in  the  day  time !  No,  indeed,  we  must 
begin  to  economize." 

Mallory  was  touched  by  this  new  revelation  of 
her  future  housewifely  thrift.  He  hugged  her  hard 
and  reminded  her  that  she  could  send  a  day-letter 
by  wire. 

"An  excellent  idea,"  she  said.  "Now,  don't 
bother  me.  You  go  on  and  read  your  paper,  read 
about  Mattie.  I'll  never  be  jealous  of  her — him — 
of  anybody — again." 

"You  shall  never  have  cause  for  jealousy,  my 


own." 


But  fate  was  not  finished  with  the  initiation  of 
the  unfortunate  pair,  and  already  new  trouble  was 
strolling  in  their  direction. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

JEALOUSY  COMES  ABOARD 

THERE  was  an  air  of  domestic  peace  in  the  ob- 
servation room,  where  Mallory  and  Marjorie  had 
been  left  to  themselves  for  some  time.  But  the 
peace  was  like  the  ominous  hush  that  precedes  a  tem- 
pest. 

Mallory  was  so  happy  with  everything  coming  his 
way,  that  he  was  even  making  up  with  Snoozleums, 
stroking  the  tatted  coat  with  one  hand  and  holding 
up  his  newspaper  with  the  other.  He  did  not  know 
all  that  was  coming  his  way.  The  blissful  silence  was 
broken  first  by  Marjorie: 

"How  do  you  spell  Utah? — with  a  y?" 

"Utah  begins  with  You,"  he  said — and  rather 
liked  his  wit,  listened  for  some  recognition,  and  rose 
to  get  it,  but  she  waved  him  away. 

"Don't  bother  me,  honey.  Can't  you  see  I'm 
busy?" 

He  kissed  her  hair  and  sauntered  back,  dividing 
his  attention  between  Snoozleums  and  the  ten-inning 
game. 

And  now  there  was  a  small  commotion  in  the 

213 


214  EXCUSE  ME! 

smoking  room.  Through  the  glass  along  the  corri- 
dor the  men  caught  sight  of  the  girl  who  had  got 
on  at  Green  River.  Ashton  saw  her  first  and  she 
saw  him. 

"There  she  goes,"  Ashton  hissed  to  the  others, 
"look  quick!  There's  the  nectarine." 

"My  word!  She's  a  litle  bit  of  all  right,  isn't 
she?" 

Even  Dr.  Temple  stared  at  her  with  approval : 
"Dear  little  thing,  isn't  she?" 

The  girl,  very  consciously  unconscious  of  the  ad- 
miration, moved  demurely  along,  with  eyes  down- 
t.jst,  but  at  such  an  angle  that  she  could  take  in  the 
sensation  she  was  creating;  she  went  along  picking 
up  stares  as  if  they  were  bouquets. 

Her  demeanor  was  a  remarkable  compromise  be- 
tween outrageous  6irtation  and  perfect  respectabil- 
ity. But  she  was  looking  back  so  intently  that  when 
she  moved  into  the  observation  room  she  walked 
right  into  the  newspaper  Mallory  was  holding  out 
before  him. 

Both  said:    "I  beg  your  pardon." 

When  Mallory  lowered  the  paper,  both  stated 
till  their  eyes  almost  popped.  Her  amazement  was 
one  of  immediate  rapture.  He  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  been  much  obliged  for  a  volcanic  crater  to  sink 
into. 

"Harry!"  she  gasped,  and  let  fall  her  handbag. 

"Kitty!"  he  gasped,  and  let  fall  his  newspaper. 


JEALOUSY  COMES  ABOARD  215 

Both  bent,  he  handed  her  the  newspaper  and  tossed 
the  handbag  into  a  chair;  saw  his  mistake,  withdrew 
the  newspaper  and  proffered  her  Snoozleums.  Mar- 
jorie  stopped  writing,  pen  poised  in  air,  as  if  she  had 
suddenly  been  petrified. 

The  newcomer  was  the  first  to  speak.  She  fairly 
gushed:  "Harry  Mallory — of  all  people." 

"Kitty!    Kathleen!    Miss  Lewellyn!" 

"Just  to  think  of  meeting  you  again." 

"Just  to  think  of  it." 

"And  on  this  train  of  all  places." 

"On  this  train  of  all  places!" 

"Oh,  Harry,  Harry!" 

"Oh,  Kitty,  Kitty,  Kitty!" 

"You  dear  fellow,  it's  so  long  since  I  saw  you 
last." 

"So  long." 

"It  was  at  that  last  hop  at  West  Point,  remem- 
ber?— why,  it  seems  only  yesterday,  and  how  well 
you  are  looking.  You  are  well,  aren't  you  ?" 

"Not  very."  He  was  mopping  his  brow  in  an- 
guish, and  yet  the  room  seemed  strangely  cold. 

"Of  course  you  look  much  better  in  your  uniform. 
You  aren't  wearing  your  uniform,  are  you?" 

"No,  this  is  not  my  uniform." 

"You  haven't  left  the  army,  have  you?" 

"I  don't  know  yet." 

"Don't  ever  do  that.  You  are  just  beautiful  in 
brass  buttons." 


216  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Thanks." 

"Harry!" 

"What's  the  matter  now?" 

"This  tie,  this  green  tie,  isn't  this  the  one  I  knitted 
you?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  I  borrowed  it  from  the 
conductor." 

"Don't  you  remember?     I  did  knit  you  one." 

"Did  you?  I  believe  you  did!  I  think  I  wore 
it  out." 

"Oh,  you  fickle  boy.  But  see  what  I  have.  What's 
this?" 

He  stared  through  the  glassy  eyes  of  complete 
helplessness.  "It  looks  like  a  bracelet." 

"Don't  tell  me  you  don't  remember  this! — the 
little  bangle  bracelet  you  gave  me." 

"D-did  I  give  you  a  baygled  branglet?" 

"Of  course  you  did.  And  the  inscription.  Don't 
you  remember  it?" 

She  held  her  wrist  in  front  of  his  aching  eyes  and 
he  perused  as  if  it  were  his  own  epitaph,  what  she 
read  aloud  for  him.  "From  Harry  to  Kitty,  the  Only 
Girl  I  Ever  Loved." 

"Good  night!"  he  sighed  to  himself,  and  began  to 
mop  his  brow  with  Snoozleums. 

"You  put  it  on  my  arm,"  said  Kathleen,  with  a 
moonlight  sigh,  "and  I've  always  worn  it." 

"Always?" 

"Always !  no  matter  whom  I  was  engaged  to." 


JEALOUSY  COMES  ABOARD  217 

The  desperate  wretch,  who  had  not  dared  even 
to  glance  in  Marjorie's  direction,  somehow  thought 
he  saw  a  straw  of  self-defense.  "You  were  enga'ged 
to  three  or  four  others  when  I  was  at  West  Point." 

"I  may  have  been  engaged  to  the  others,"  said 
Kathleen,  moon-eyeing  him,  "but  I  always  liked  you 
best,  Clifford — er,  Tommy — I  mean  Harry." 

"You  got  me  at  last." 

Kathleen  fenced  back  at  this:  "Well,  I've  no 
doubt  you  have  had  a  dozen  affairs  since." 

"Oh,  no!  My  heart  has  only  known  one  real 
love."  He  threw  this  over  her  head  at  Marjorie, 
but  Kathleen  seized  it,  to  his  greater  confusion:  "Oh, 
Harry,  how  sweet  of  you  to  say  it.  It  makes  me 
feel  positively  faint,"  and  she  swooned  his  way,  but 
he  shoved  a  chair  forward  and  let  her  collapse  into 
that.  Thinking  and  hoping  that  she  was  unconscious, 
he  made  ready  to  escape,  but  she  caught  him  by  the 
coat,  and  moaned :  "Where  am  I  ?"  and  he  growled 
back: 

"In  the  Observation  Car!" 

Kathleen's  life  and  enthusiasm  returned  without 
delay:  "Fancy  meeting  you  again!  I  could  just 
scream." 

"So  could  I." 

"You  must  come  up  in  our  car  and  see  mamma." 

"Is  Ma-mamma  with  you?"  Mallory  stammered, 
on  the  verge  of  imbecility. 

"Oh,  yes,  indeed,  we're  going  around  the  world." 


218  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Don't  let  me  detain  you." 

"Papa  is  going  round  the  world  also." 

"Is  papa  on  this  train,  too?" 

At  last  something  seemed  to  embarrass  her  a 
trifle:  "No,  papa  went  on  ahead.  Mamma  hopes 
to  overtake  him.  But  papa  is  a  very  good  traveler." 

Then  she  changed  the  subject.  "Do  come  and 
meet  mamma.  It  would  cheer  her  up  so.  She  is  so 
fond  of  you.  Only  this  morning  she  was  saying,  'Of 
all  the  boys  you  were  ever  engaged  to,  Kathleen,  the 
one  I  like  most  of  all  was  Edgar — I  mean  Clarence 
— er — Harry  Mallory." 

"Awfully  kind  of  her." 

"You  must  come  and  see  her — she's  some  stouter 
now!" 

"Oh,  is  she?    Well,  that's  good." 

Mallory  was  too  angry  to  be  sane,  and  too  helpless 
to  take  advantage  of  his  anger.  He  wondered  how 
he  could  ever  have  cared  for  this  molasses  and  mu- 
cilage girl.  He  remembered  now  that  she  had  always 
had  these  same  cloying  ways.  She  had  always  pawed 
him  and,  like  everybody  but  the  pawers,  he  hated 
pawing. 

It  would  have  ben  bad  enough  at  any  time  to  have 
Kathleen  hanging  on  his  coat,  straightening  his  tie, 
leaning  close,  smiling  up  in  his  eyes,  losing  him  his 
balance,  recapturing  him  every  time  he  edged  away. 
But  with  Marjorie  as  the  grim  witness  it  was  mad- 
dening. 


JEALOUSY  COMES  ABOARD  219 

He  loathed  and  abominated  Kathleen  Llewellyn, 
and  if  she  had  only  been  a  man,  he  could  cheerfully 
have  beaten  her  to  a  pulp  and  chucked  her  out  of 
the  window.  But  because  she  was  a  helpless  little 
baggage,  he  had  to  be  as  polite  as  he  could  while 
she  sat  and  tore  his  plans  to  pieces,  embittered  Mar- 
jorie's  heart  against  him,  and  either  ended  all  hopes 
of  their  marriage,  or  furnished  an  everlasting  rancor 
to  be  recalled  in  every  quarrel  to  their  dying  day. 
Oh,  etiquette,  what  injustices  are  endured  in  thy 
name ! 

So  there  he  sat,  sweating  his  soul's  blood,  and 
able  only  to  spar  for  time  and  wonder  when  the 
gong  would  ring.  And  now  she  was  off  on  a  new 
tack: 

"And  where  are  you  bound  for,  Harry,  dear?" 

"The  Philippines,"  he  said,  and  for  the  first  time 
there  was  something  beautiful  in  their  remote- 
ness. 

"Perhaps  we  shall  cross  the  Pacific  on  the  same 
boat." 

The  first  sincere  smile  he  had  experienced  came 
to  him:  "I  go  on  an  army  transport,  fortu — unfor- 
tunately." 

"Oh,  I  just  love  soldiers.  Couldn't  mamma  and  I 
go  on  the  transport?  Mamma  is  very  fond  of 
soldiers,  too." 

"I'm  afraid  it  couldn't  be  arranged." 

"'Too  bad,  but  perhaps  we  can  stop  off  and  pay 


220  EXCUSE  ME! 

you  a  visit.  I  just  love  army  posts.  So  does 
mamma." 

"Oh,  do!" 

"What  will  be  your  address?" 

"Just  the  Philippines — just  the  Philippines." 

"But  aren't  there  quite  a  few  of  them?" 

"Only  about  two  thousand." 

"Which  one  will  you  be  on?" 

"I'll  be  on  the  third  from  the  left,"  said  Mallory, 
who  neither  knew  nor  cared  what  he  was  saying. 
Marjorie  had  endured  all  that  she  could  stand.  She 
rose  in  a  tightly  leashed  fury. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  in  the  way." 

Kathleen  turned  in  surprise.  She  had  not  noticed 
that  anyone  was  near.  Mallory  went  out  of  his  head 
completely.  "Oh,  don't  go — for  heaven's  sake 
don't  go,"  he  appealed  to  Marjorie. 

"A  friend  of  yours?"  said  Kathleen,  bristling. 

"No,  not  a  friend,"  in  a  chaotic  tangle,  "Mrs. — 
Miss — Miss — Er — er — er " 

Kathleen  smiled:  "Delighted  to  meet  you,  Miss 
Ererer." 

"The  pleasure  is  all  mine,"  Marjorie  said,  with 
an  acid  smile. 

"Have  you  known  Harry  long?"  said  Kathleen, 
jealously,  "or  are  you  just  acquaintances  on  the 
train  ?"  ~ 

"We're  just  acquaintances  on  the  train  1" 


JEALOUSY  COMES  ABOARD  221 

"I  used  to  know  Harry  very  well — very  well  in- 
deed." 

"So  I  should  judge.  You  won't  mind  if  I  leave 
you  to  talk  over  old  times  together?" 

"How  very  sweet  of  you." 

"Oh,  don't  mention  it." 

"But,  Marjorie,"  Mallory  cried,  as  she  turned 
away.  Kathleen  started  at  the  ardor  of  his  tone, 
and  gasped:  "Marjorie!  Then  he — you " 

"Not  at  all — not  in  the  least,"  said  Marjorie. 

At  this  crisis  the  room  was  suddenly  inundated 
with  people.  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  Mrs.  Wellington, 
Mrs.  Temple  and  Mrs.  Fosdlck,  all  trying  to  look 
like  bridesmaids,  danced  in,  shouting: 

"Here  they  come !  Make  way  for  the  bride  and 
groom!" 


CHAPTER  XXX 

A  WEDDING   ON   WHEELS 

THE  commotion  of  the  matrimony-mad  women 
brought  the  men  trooping  in  from  the  smoking  room 
and  there  was  much  circumstance  of  decorating  the 
scene  with  white  satin  ribbons,  a  trifle  crumpled  and 
dim  of  luster.  Mrs.  Whitcomb  waved  them  at  Mai- 
lory  with  a  laugh: 

"Recognize  these?" 

He  nodded  dismally.  His  own  funeral  baked 
meats  were  coldly  furnishing  forth  a  wedding  break- 
fast for  Ira  Lathrop.  Mrs.  Wellington  was  moving 
about  distributing  kazoos  and  Mrs.  Temple  had  an 
armload  of  old  shoes,  some  of  which  had  thumped 
Mallory  on  an  occasion  which  seemed  so  ancient 
as  to  be  almost  prehistoric. 

Fosdick  was  howling  to  the  porter  to  get  some 
rice,  quick! 

"How  many  portions  does  you  approximate?" 

"All  you've  got." 

"Boiled  or  fried?" 

"Any  old  way."  The  porter  ran  forward  to  the 
dining-car  for  the  ammunition. 

222 


A  WEDDING  ON  WHEELS  223 

Mrs.  Temple  whispered  to  her  husband:  "Too 
bad  you're  not  officiating,  Walter."  But  he  cau- 
tioned silence : 

"Hush!  I'm  on  my  vacation." 
The  train  was  already  coming  into  Ogden.  Noises 
were  multiplying  and  from  the  increase  of  passing 
objects,  the  speed  seemed  to  be  taking  on  a  spurt. 
The  bell  was  clamoring  like  a  wedding  chime  in  a 
steeple. 

Mrs.  Wellington  was  on  a  chair  fastening  a  ribbon 
round  one  of  the  lamps,  and  Mrs.  Whitcomb  was 
on  another  chair  braiding  the  bell  rope  with  withered 
orange  branches,  when  Ashton,  with  kazoo  all  ready, 
called  out: 

"What  tune  shall  we  play?" 

"I  prefer  the  Mendelssohn  Wedding  March,"  said 
Mrs.  Whitcomb,  but  Mrs.  Wellington  glared  across 
at  her. 

"I've  always  used  the  Lohengrin." 

"We'll  play  'em  both,"  said  Dr.  Temple,  to  make 
peace. 

Mrs.  Fosdick  murmured  to  her  spouse:  "The 
old  Justice  of  the  Peace  didn't  give  us  any  music  at 
all,"  and  received  in  reward  one  of  his  most  luscious- 
eyed  looks,  and  a  whisper:  "But  he  gave  us  each 
other." 

"Now  and  then,"  she  pouted. 

"But  where  are  the  bride  and  groom?" 

"Here  they  come — all  ready,"  cried  Ashton,  and 


224  EXCUSE  ME! 

he  beat  time  while  some  of  the  guests  kazooed  at 
Mendelssohn's  and  some  Wagner's  bridal  melodies, 
and  others  just  made  a  noise. 

Ira  Lathrop  and  Anne  Cattle,  looking  very  sheep- 
ish, crowded  through  the  narrow  corridor  and  stood 
shamefacedly  blushing  like  two  school  children  about 
to  sing  a  duet. 

The  train  jolted  to  a  dead  stop.  The  conductor 
called  into  the  car :  "Ogden!  All  out  for  Ogden!" 
and  everybody  stood  watching  and  waiting. 

Ira,  seeing  Mallory,  edged  close  and  whispered: 
"Stand  by  to  catch  the  minister  on  the  rebound." 

But  Mallory  turned  away.  What  use  had  he  now 
for  ministers?  His  plans  were  shattered  ruins. 

The  porter  came  flying  in  with  two  large  bowls 
of  rice,  and  shouting,  "Here  comes  the  'possum — er 
posson."  Seeing  Marjorie,  he  said:  "Shall  I  per- 
ambulate Mista  Snoozleums?" 

She  handed  the  porter  her  only  friend  and  he  hur- 
ried out,  as  a  lean  and  professionally  sad  ascetic 
hurried  in.  He  did  not  recognize  his  boyish  enemy 
in  the  gray-haired,  red-faced  giant  that  greeted  him. 
but  he  knew  that  voice  and  its  gloating  irony: 

"Hello,  Charlie." 

He  had  always  found  that  when  Ira  grinned  and 
was  cordial,  some  trouble  was  in  store  for  him.  He 
wondered  what  rock  Ira  held  behind  his  back  now, 
but  he  forced  an  uneasy  cordiality:  "And  is  this 
you,  Ira  ?  Well,  well !  It  is  yeahs  since  last  we  met. 


A  WEDDING  ON  WHEELS  225 

And  you're  just  getting  married.  Is  this  the  first 
time,  Ira?" 

"First  offense,  Charlie." 

The  levity  shocked  Selby,  but  a  greater  shock  was 
in  store,  for  when  he  inquired:  "And  who  is  the — 
er — happy — bride?"  the  triumphant  Lathrop  snick- 
ered: "I  believe  you  used  to  know  her.  Anne 
Cattle." 

This  was  the  rock  behind  Ira's  back,  and  Selby 
took  it  with  a  wince:  "Not — my  old " 

"The  same.    Anne,  you  remember,  Charlie." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Anne,  "How  do  you  do,  Charlie?" 
And  she  put  out  a  shy  hand,  which  he  took  with  one 
still  shyer.  He  was  so  unsettled  that  he  stammered: 
"Well,  well,  I  had  always  hoped  to  marry  you,  Anne, 
but  not  just  this  way." 

Lathrop  cut  him  short  with  a  sharp :  "Better  get 
busy — before  the  train  starts.  And  I'll  pay  you  in 
advance  before  you  set  off  the  fireworks." 

The  flippancy  pained  the  Rev.  Charles,  but  he 
was  resuscitated  by  one  glance  at  the  bill  that  Ira 
thrust  into  his  palm.  If  a  man's  gratitude  for  his 
wife  is  measured  by  the  size  of  the  fee  he  hands  the 
enabling  parson,  Ira  was  madly  in  love  with  Anne. 
The  Rev.  Charles  had  a  reminiscent  suspicion  that 
it  was  probably  a  counterfeit,  but  for  once  he  did 
Ira  an  injustice. 

The  minister  was  in  such  a  flutter  from  losing  his 
boyhood  love,  and  gaining  so  much  money  all  at 


226  EXCUSE  ME! 

once  and  from  performing  the  marriage  on  a  train, 
that  he  made  numerous  errors  in  the  ceremony,  but 
nobody  noticed  them,  and  the  spirit,  if  not  the  letter 
of  the  occasion,  was  there  and  the  contract  was 
doubtless  legal  enough. 

The  ritual  began  with  the  pleasant  murmur  of  the 
preacher's  voice,  and  the  passengers  crowded  round 
in  a  solemn  calm,  which  was  suddenly  violated  by  a 
loud  yelp  of  laughter  from  Wedgewood,  who  emitted 
guffaw  after  guffaw  and  bent  double  and  opened  out 
again,  like  an  agitated  umbrella. 

The  wedding-guests  turned  on  him  visages  of  hor- 
ror, and  hissed  silence  at  him.  Ashton  seized  him, 
shook  him,  and  muttered: 

"What  the — what's  the  matter  with  you?" 

The  Englishman  shook  like  a  boy  having  a  spasm 
of  giggles  at  a  funeral,  and  blurted  out  the  explana- 
tion: 

"That  story  about  the  bridegroom — I  just  saw 
the  point!" 

Ashton  closed  his  jaw  by  brute  force  and  watched 
over  him  through  the  rest  of  the  festivity. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

FOILED  YET  AGAIN 

MALLORY  had  fled  from  the  scene  at  the  first  hum 
of  the  minister's  words.  His  fate  was  like  alkali  on 
his  palate.  For  twelve  hundred  miles  he  had  ran- 
sacked the  world  for  a  minister.  When  one  dropped 
on  the  train  like  manna  through  the  roof,  even  this 
miracle  had  to  be  checkmated  by  a  perverse  miracle 
that  sent  to  the  train  an  early  infatuation,  a  silly 
affair  that  he  himself  called  puppy-love.  And  now 
Marjorie  would  never  marry  him.  He  did  not  blame 
her.  He  blamed  fate. 

He  was  in  solitude  in  the  smoking  room.  The 
place  reeked  with  drifting  tobacco  smoke  and  the 
malodor  of  cigar  stubs  and  cigarette  ends.  His 
plans  were  as  useless  and  odious  as  cigarette  ends. 
He  dropped  into  a  chair  his  elbows  on  his  knees  and 
his  head  in  his  hands — Napoleon  on  St.  Helena. 

And  then,  suddenly  he  heard  Marjorie's  voice. 
He  turned  and  saw  her  hesitating  in  the  doorway. 
He  rose  to  welcome  her,  but  the  smile  died  on  his 
lips  at  her  chilly  speech : 

227 


228  EXCUSE  ME! 

"May  I  have  a  word  with  you,  sir?" 

"Of  course.  The  air's  rather  thick  in  here,"  he 
apologized. 

"Just  wait!"  she  said,  ominously,  and  stalked  in 
like  a  young  Zenobia.  He  put  out  an  appealing 
hand :  "Now,  Marjorie,  listen  to  reason.  Of  course 
I  know  you  won't  marry  me  now." 

"Oh,  you  know  that,  do  you?"  she  said,  with  a 
squared  jaw. 

"But,  really,  you  ought  to  marry  me — not  merely 
because  I  love  you — and  you're  the  only  girl  I 

ever "  He  stopped  short  and  she  almost  smiled 

as  she  taunted  him:  "Go  on — I  dare  you  to  say  it." 

He  swallowed  hard  and  waived  the  point:  "Well, 
anyway,  you  ought  to  marry  me— for  your  own 
sake." 

Then  she  took  his  breath  away  by  answering: 
"Oh,  I'm  going  to  marry  you,  never  fear." 

"You  are,"  he  cried,  with  a  rush  of  returning  hope. 
"Oh,  I  knew  you  loved  me." 

She  pushed  his  encircling  arms  aside:  "I  don't 
love  you,  and  that's  why  I'm  going  to  marry  you." 

"But  I  don't  understand." 

"Of  course  not,"  she  sneered,  as  if  she  were  a 
thousand  years  old,  "you're  only  a  man — and  a  very 
young  man." 

"You've  ceased  to  love  me,"  he  protested,  "just 
because  of  a  little  affair  I  had  before  I  met  you?" 

Marjorie  answered  with  world-old  wisdom:     "A 


FOILED  YET  A  CAIN  229 

woman  can  forgive  a  man  anything  except  what  he 
did  before  he  met  her." 

He  stared  at  her  with  masculine  dismay  at  femi- 
nine logic:  "If  you  can't  forgive  me,  then  why  do 
you  marry  me?" 

"For  revenge!"  she  cried.  "You  brought  me  on 
this  train  all  this  distance  to  introduce  me  to  a  girl 
you  used  to  spoon  with.  And  I  don't  like  her.  She's 
awful!" 

"Yes,  she  is  awful,"  Mallory  assented.  "I  don't 
know  how  I  ever " 

"Oh,  you  admit  it!" 

"No." 

"Well,  I'm  going  to  marry  you — now — this  min- 
ute— with  that  preacher,  then  I'm  going  to  get  off 
at  Reno  and  divorce  you." 

"Divorce  me!    Good  Lord!    On  what  grounds?" 

"On  the  grounds  of  Miss  Kitty — Katty — Llewel- 
lington — or  whatever  her  name  is." 

Mallory  was  groggy  with  punishment,  and  the 
vain  effort  to  foresee  her  next  blow.  "But  you  can't 
name  a  woman  that  way,"  he  pleaded,  "for  just 
being  nice  to  me  before  I  ever  met  you." 

"That's  the  worst  kind  of  unfaithfulness,"  she 
reiterated.  "You  should  have  known  that  some  day 
you  would  meet  me.  You  should  have  saved  your 
first  love  for  me." 

"But  last  love  is  best,"  Mallory  interposed, 
weakly. 


230  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Oh,  no,  it  isn't,  and  if  it  is,  how  do  I  know  I'm 
to  be  your  last  love?  No,  sir,  when  I've  divorced 
you,  you  can  go  back  to  your  first  love  and  go  round 
the  world  with  her  till  you  get  dizzy." 

"But  I  don't  want  her  for  a  wife,"  Mallory  urged, 
"I  want  you." 

"You'll  get  me — but  not  for  long.  And  one  other 
thing,  I  want  you  to  get  that  bracelet  away  from  that 
creature.  Do  you  promise?" 

"How  can  I  get  it  away?" 

"Take  it  away!     Do  you  promise?" 

Mallory  surrendered  completely.  Anything  to  get 
Marjorie  safely  into  his  arms:  "I  promise  any- 
thing, if  you'll  really  marry  me." 

"Oh,  I'll  marry  you,  sir,  but  not  really." 

And  while  he  stared  in  helpless  awe  at  the  cynic 
and  termagant  that  jealousy  had  metamorphosed 
this  timid,  clinging  creature  into,  they  heard  the  con- 
ductor's voice  at  the  rear  door  of  the  car:  "Hurry 
up — we've  got  to  start." 

They  heard  Lathrop's  protest:  "Hold  on  there, 
conductor,"  and  Selby's  plea:  "Oh,  I  say,  my  good 
man,  wait  a  moment,  can't  you?" 

The  conductor  answered  with  the  gruffness  of  a 
despot:  "Not  a  minute.  I've  my  orders  to  make 
up  lost  time.  All  aboard!" 

While  the  minister  was  tying  the  last  loose  ends 
of  the  matrimonial  knot,  Mallory  and  Marjorie 
were  struggling  through  the  crowd  to  get  at  him. 


FOILED  YET  AGAIN  231 

Just  as  they  were  near,  they  were  swept  aside  by 
the  rush  of  the  bride  and  groom,  for  the  parson's 
"I  pronounce  you  man  and  wife,"  pronounced  as  he 
backed  toward  the  door,  was  the  signal  for  another 
wedding  riot. 

Once  more  Ira  and  Anne  were  showered  with 
rice.  This  time  it  was  their  own.  Ira  darted  out 
into  the  corridor,  haling  his  brand-new  wife  by  the 
wrist,  and  the  wedding  guests  pursued  them  across 
the  vestibule,  through  the  next  car,  and  on,  and  on. 

Nobody  remained  to  notice  what  happened  to 
the  parson.  Having  performed  his  function,  he  was 
without  further  interest  or  use.  But  to  Mallory  and 
Marjorie  he  was  vitally  necessary. 

Mallory  caught  his  hand  as  it  turned  the  knob 
of  the  door  and  drew  him  back.  Marjorie,  equally 
determined,  caught  his  other  elbow: 

"Please  don't  go,"  Mallory  urged,  "until  you've 
married  us." 

The  Reverend  Charles  stared  at  his  captors  in 
amazement: 

"But  my  dear  man,  the  train's  moving." 

Marjorie  clung  all  the  tighter  and  invited  him  to 
"Come  on  to  the  next  stop." 

"But  my  dear  lady,"  Selby  gasped,  "it's  impos- 
sible." 

"You've  just  got  to,"  Mallory  insisted. 

"Release  me,  please." 

"Never!" 


232  EXCUSE  ME! 

"How  dare  you!"  the  parson  shrieked,  and  with 
a  sudden  wriggle  writhed  out  of  his  coat,  leaving  it 
in  Marjorie's  hands.  He  darted  to  the  door  and 
flung  it  open,  with  Mallory  hot  after  him. 

The  train  was  kicking  up  a  cloud  of  dust  and  get- 
ting its  stride.  The  kidnapped  clergyman  paused  a 
moment,  aghast  at  the  speed  with  which  the  ground 
was  being  paid  out.  Then  he  climbed  the  brass  rail 
and,  with  a  hasty  prayer,  dropped  overboard. 

Mallory  lunged  at  him,  and  seized  him  by  his 
reversed  collar.  But  the  collar  alone  remained  in 
his  clutch.  The  parson  was  almost  lost  in  the  dust 
he  created  as  he  struck,  bounded  and  rolled  till  he 
came  to  a  stop,  with  his  stars  and  his  prayers  to 
thank  for  injuries  to  nothing  worse  than  his  dignity 
and  other  small  clothes. 

Mallory  returned  to  the  observation  room  and 
flung  the  collar  and  bib  to  the  floor  in  a  fury  of  de- 
spair, howling: 

"He  got  away!     He  got  away!" 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  EMPTY  BERTH 

THE  one  thing  Mallory  was  beginning  to  learn 
about  Marjorie  was  that  she  would  never  take  the 
point  of  view  he  expected,  and  never  proceed  along 
the  lines  of  his  logic. 

She  had  grown  furious  at  him  for  what  he  could 
not  help.  She  had  told  him  that  she  would  marry 
him  out  of  spite.  She  had  commanded  him  to  pursue 
and  apprehend  the  flying  parson.  He  failed  and 
returned  crestfallen  and  wondering  what  new  form 
her  rage  would  take. 

And,  lo  and  behold,  when  she  saw  him  so  down- 
cast and  helpless,  she  rushed  to  him  with  caresses, 
cuddled  his  broad  shoulders  against  her  breast,  anJ 
smothered  him.  It  was  the  sincerity  of  his  dejection 
and  the  complete  helplessness  he  displayed  that  won 
her  woman's  heart. 

Mallory  gazed  at  her  with  almost  more  wonder- 
ment than  delight.  This  was  another  flashlight  on 
her  character.  Most  courtships  are  conducted  under 
a  rose-light  in  which  wooer  and  wooed  wear  their 
best  clothes  or  their  best  behavior;  or  in  a  starlit, 

233 


234  EXCUSE  ME! 

moonlit,  or  gaslit  twilight  where  romance  softens 
angles  and  wraps  everything  in  velvet  shadow.  Then 
the  two  get  married  and  begin  to  live  together 
in  the  cold,  gray  daylight  of  realism,  with  undigni- 
fied necessities  and  harrowing  situations  at  every 
step,  and  disillusion  begins  its  deadly  work. 

This  young  couple  was  undergoing  all  the  incon- 
veniences and  temper-exposures  of  marriage  without 
its  blessed  compensations.  They  promised  to  be 
well  acquainted  before  they  were  wed.  If  they  still 
wanted  each  other  after  this  ordeal,  they  were  pretty 
well  assured  that  their  marriage  would  not  be  a 
failure. 

Mallory  rejoiced  to  see  that  the  hurricane  of 
Marjorie's  jealousy  had  only  whipped  up  the  sur- 
face of  her  soul.  The  great  depths  were  still  calm 
and  unmoved,  and  her  love  for  him  was  in  and  of 
the  depths. 

Soon  after  leaving  Ogden,  the  train  entered  upon 
the  great  bridge  across  the  Great  Salt  Lake.  The 
other  passengers  were  staring  at  the  enormous  en- 
gineering masterpiece  and  the  conductor  was  point- 
ing out  that,  in  order  to  save  forty  miles  and  the 
crossing  of  two  mountain  chains,  the  railroad  had 
devoted  four  years  of  labor  and  millions  of  dollars 
to  stretching  a  thirty-mile  bridge  across  this  inland 
ocean. 

But  Marjorie  and  Mallory  never  noticed  it.  They 
were  absorbed  in  exploring  each  other's  souls,  and 


THE  EMPTY  BERTH  235 

they  had  safely  bridged  the  Great  Salt  Lake  which 
the  first  big  bitter  jealousy  spreads  across  every  mat- 
rimonial route. 

They  were  undisturbed  in  their  voyage,  for  all  the 
other  passengers  had  their  noses  flattened  against 
the  window  panes  of  the  other  cars — all  except  one 
couple,  gazing  each  at  each  through  time-wrinkled 
eyelids  touched  with  the  magic  of  a  tardy  honey- 
moon. 

For  all  that  Anne  and  Ira  knew,  the  Great  Salt 
Lake  was  a  moon-swept  lagoon,  and  the  arid  moun- 
tains of  Nevada  which  the  train  went  scaling,  were 
the  very  hillsides  of  Arcadia. 

But  the  other  passengers  soon  came  trooping  back 
into  the  observation  room.  Ira  had  told  them 
nothing  of  Mallory's  confession.  In  the  first  place, 
he  was  a  man  who  had  learned  to  keep  a  secret, 
and  in  the  second  place,  he  had  forgotten  that  such 
persons  as  Mallory  or  his  Marjorie  existed.  All  the 
world  was  summed  up  in  the  fearsomely  happy  little 
spinster  who  had  moved  up  into  his  section — the 
section  which  had  begun  its  career  draped  in  satin 
ribbons  unwittingly  prophetic. 

The  communion  of  Mallory  and  Marjorie  under 
the  benison  of  reconciliation  was  invaded  by  the 
jokes  of  the  other  passengers,  unconsciously  ironic. 

Dr.  Temple  chaffed  them  amiably:  "You  two 
will  have  to  take  a  back  seat  now.  We've  got  a 
new  bridal  couple  to  amuse  us." 


236  EXCUSE  ME! 

And  Mrs.  Temple  welcomed  them  with :  "You're 
only  old  married  folks,  like  us." 

The  Mallorys  were  used  to  the  misunderstanding. 
But  the  misplaced  witticisms  gave  them  reassurance 
that  their  secret  was  safe  yet  a  little  while.  At  their 
dinner-table,  however,  and  in  the  long  evening  that 
followed  they  were  haunted  by  the  fact  that  this  was 
their  last  night  on  the  train,  and  no  minister  to  be 
expected. 

And  now  once  more  the  Mallorys  regained  the 
star  roles  in  the  esteem  of  the  audience,  for  once 
more  they  quarreled  at  good-night-kissing  time. 
Once  more  they  required  two  sections,  while  Anne 
Cattle's  berth  was  not  even  made  up.  It  remained 
empty,  like  a  deserted  nest,  for  its  occupant  had  flown 
South* 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY 

4> 

THE  following  morning  the  daylight  creeping  into 
section  number  one  found  Ira  and  Anne  staring 
at  each  other.  Ira  was  tousled  and  Anne  was  un- 
kempt, but  her  blush  still  gave  her  cheek  at  least  an 
Indian  summer  glow. 

After  a  violent  effort  to  reach  the  space  between 
her  shoulder  blades,  she  was  compelled  to  appeal  to 
her  new  master  to  act  as  her  new  maid. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Lathrop,"  she  stammered — "Ira,"  she 
corrected,  "won't  you  please  hook  me  up?"  she 
pleaded. 

Ira  beamed  with  a  second  childhood  boyishness: 
"I'll  do  my  best,  my  little  ootsum-tootsums,  it's  the 
first  time  I  ever  tried  it." 

"Oh,  I'm  so  glad,"  Anne  sighed,  "it's  the  first 
time  I  ever  was  hooked  up  by  a  gentleman." 

He  gurgled  with  joy  and,  forgetting  the  poverty 
of  space,  tried  to  reach  her  lips  to  kiss  her.  He 
almost  broke  her  neck  and  bumped  his  head  so  hard 
that  instead  of  saying,  as  he  intended,  "My  darling," 
he  said,  "Oh,  hell!" 

237 


238  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Ira!"  she  gasped.  But  he,  with  all  the  proprie- 
torship he  had  assumed,  answered  cheerily:  "You'll 
have  to  get  used  to  it,  ducky  darling.  I  could  never 
learn  not  to  swear."  He  proved  the  fact  again  and 
again  by  the  remarks  he  addressed  to  certain  refrac- 
tory hooks.  He  apologized,  but  she  felt  more  like 
apologizing  for  herself. 

"Oh,  Ira,"  she  said,  "I'm  so  ashamed  to  have  you 
see  me  like  this — the  first  morning." 

"Well,  you  haven't  got  anything  on  me — I'm  not 
shaved." 

"You  don't  have  to  tell  me  that,"  she  said,  rub- 
bing her  smarting  cheek.  Then  she  bumped  her  head 
and  gasped:  "Oh — what  you  said." 

This  made  them  feel  so  much  at  home  that  she 
attained  the  heights  of  frankness  and  honesty  by 
reaching  in  her  handbag  for  a  knob  of  supplementary 
hair,  which  she  affixed  dextrously  to  what  was  home- 
grown. Ira,  instead  of  looking  shocked,  loved  her 
for  her  honesty,  and  grinned : 

"Now,  that's  where  you  have  got  something  on 
me.  Say,  we're  like  a  couple  of  sardines  trying  to 
make  love  in  a  tin  can." 

"It's  cosy  though,"  she  said,  and  then  vanished 
through  the  curtains  and  shyly  ran  the  gauntlet  of 
amused  glances  and  over-cordial  "Good  mornings" 
till  she  hid  her  blushes  benind  the  door  of  the  wo- 
men's room  and  turned  the  key.  If  she  had  thought 
of  it  she  would  have  said,  "God  bless  the  man  that 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY  230 

invented  doors — and  the  other  angel  that  invented 
locks." 

The  passengers  this  morning  were  all  a  little 
brisker  than  usual.  It  was  the  last  day  aboard  for 
everybody  and  they  showed  a  certain  extra  anima- 
tion, like  the  inmates  of  an  ocean  liner  when  land  has 
been  sighted. 

Ashton  was  shaving  when  Ira  swaggered  into  the 
men's  room.  Without  pausing  to  note  whom  he 
was  addressing,  Ashton  sang  out: 

"Good  morning.     Did  you  rest  well?" 
"What!"  Ira  roared. 

"Oh,  excuse  me!"  said  Ashton,  hastily,  devoting 
himself  to  a  gash  his  safety  razor  had  made  in  his 
cheek — even  in  that  cheek  of  his. 

Ira  scrubbed  out  the  basin,  filled  it  and  tried  to 
dive  into  it,  slapping  the  cold  water  in  double  hand- 
fuls  over  his  glowing  face  and  puffing  through  it  like 
a  porpoise. 

Meanwhile  the  heavy-eyed  Fosdick  was  slinking 
through  the  dining-car,  regarded  with  amazement 
by  Dr.  Temple  and  his  wife,  who  were  already  up 
and  breakfasting. 

"What's  the  matter  with  the  bridal  couples  on 
this  train,  anyway?"  said  Dr.  Temple. 

"I  can't  imagine,"  said  his  wife,  "we  old  couples 
are  the  only  normal  ones." 

"Some  more  coffee,  please,  mother,"  he  said. 
"But  your  nerves,"  she  protested. 


240  EXCUSE  ME! 

"It's  my  vacation,"  he  insisted. 

Mrs.  Temple  stared  at  him  and  shook  her  head: 
"I  wonder  what  mischief  you'll  be  up  to  to-day? 
You've  already  been  smoking,  gambling,  drinking — 
have  you  been  swearing,  yet?" 

"Not  yet,"  the  old  clergyman  smiled,  "I've  been 
saving  that  up  for  a  good  occasion.  Perhaps  it  will 
rise  before  the  day's  over." 

And  his  wife  choked  on  her  tea  at  the  wonderful 
train-change  that  had  come  over  the  best  man  in 
Ypsilanti. 

By  this  time  Fosdick  had  reached  the  stateroom 
from  which  he  had  been  banished  again  at  the 
Nevada  state-line.  He  knocked  cautiously.  From 
within  came  an  anxious  voice:  "Who's  there?" 

"Whom  did  you  expect?" 

Mrs.  Fosdick  popped  her  head  out  like  a  Jill  in 
the  box.  "Oh,  it's  you,  Arthur.  Kiss  me  good 
morning." 

He  glanced  round  stealthily  and  obeyed  instruc- 
tions: "I  guess  its's  safe — my  darling." 

"Did  you  sleep,  dovie?"  she  yawned. 

"Not  a  wink.  They  took  off  the  Portland  car  at 
Granger  and  I  had  to  sleep  in  one  of  the  chairs  in 
the  observation  room." 

Mrs.  Fosdick  shook  her  head  at  him  in  mournful 
sympathy,  and  asked :  "What  state  are  we  in  now?" 

"A  dreadful  state — Nevada." 

"Just  what  are  we  in  Nevada?" 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY      241 

"I'm  a  bigamist,  and  you've  never  been  married 
at  all." 

"Oh,  these  awful  divorce  laws !"  she  moaned,  then 
left  the  general  for  the  particular:  "Won't  you 
come  in  and  hook  me  up?" 

Fosdick  looked  shocked:  "I  don't  dare  compro- 
mise you." 

"Will  you  take  breakfast  with  me — in  the  dining- 
car?"  she  pleaded. 

"Do  we  dare?" 

"We  might  call  it  luncheon,"  she  suggested. 

He  seized  the  chance:  "All  right,  I'll  go  ahead 
and  order,  and  you  stroll  in  and  I'll  offer  you  the 
seat  opposite  me." 

"But  can't  you  hook  me  up?" 

He  was  adamant:  "Not  till  we  get  to  California. 
Do  you  think  I  want  to  compromise  my  own  wife? 
Shh!  Somebody's  coming!"  And  he  darted  off  to 
the  vestibule  just  as  Mrs.  Jimmie  Wellington  issued 
from  number  ten  with  hair  askew,  eyes  only  half 
open,  and  waist  only  half  shut  at  the  back.  She  made 
a  quick  spurt  to  the  women's  room,  found  it  locked, 
stamped  her  foot,  swore  under  her  breath,  and 
leaned  against  the  wall  of  the  car  to  wait. 

About  the  same  time,  the  man  who  was  still  her 
husband  according  to  the  law,  rolled  out  of  berth 
number  two.  There  was  an  amazing  clarity  to  his 
vision.  He  lurched  as  he  made  his  way  to  the  men's 
room,  but  it  was  plainly  the  train's  swerve  and  not 


242  EXCUSE  ME! 

an  inner  lurch  that  twisted  the  forthright  of  his 
progress. 

He  squeezed  into  the  men's  room  like  a  whole 
crowd  at  once,  and  sang  out,  "Good  morning,  all!" 
with  a  wonderful  heartiness.  Then  he  paused  over 
a  wash  basin,  rubbed  his  hands  gleefully  and  pro- 
claimed, like  another  Chantecler  advertising  a  new 
day: 

"Well— I'm  sober  again!" 

"Three  cheers  for  you,"  said  his  rival  in  radi- 
ance, bridegroom  Lathrop. 

"How  does  it  feel?"  demanded  Ashton,  smiling 
so  broadly  that  he  encountered  the  lather  on  his 
brush. 

While  he  sputtered  Wellington  was  flipping  water 
over  his  hot  head  and  incidentally  over  Ashton. 

"I  feel,"  he  chortled,  "I  feel  like  the  first  little 
robin  redbreast  of  the  merry  springtime.  Tweet  I 
Tweet!" 

When  the  excitement  over  his  redemption  had 
somewhat  calmed,  Ashton  reopened  the  old  topic 
of  conversation: 

"Well,  I  see  they  had  another  scrap  last  night." 

"They — who?"  said  Ira,  through  his  flying  tooth- 
brush. 

"The  Mallorys.  Once  more  he  occupied  number 
three  and  she  number  seven." 

"Well,  well,  I  can't  understand  these  modern  mar- 
riages," said  Little  Jimmie,  with  a  side  glance  at 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY      243 

Ira.  Ira  suddenly  remembered  the  plight  of  the 
Mallorys  and  was  tempted  to  defend  them,  but  he 
saw  the  young  lieutenant  himself  just  entering  the 
washroom.  This  was  more  than  Wellington  saw, 
for  he  went  on  talking  from  behind  a  towel : 

"Well,  if  I  were  a  bridegroom  and  had  a  bride 
like  that,  it  would  take  more  than  a  quarrel  to  send 
me  to  another  berth." 

The  others  made  gestures  which  he  could  not  see. 
His  enlightenment  came  when  Mallory  snapped  the 
towel  from  his  hands  and  glared  into  his  face  with 
all  the  righteous  wrath  of  a  man  hearing  his  do- 
mestic affairs  publicly  discussed. 

"Were  you  alluding  to  me,  Mr.  Wellington?"  he 
demanded,  hotly. 

Little  Jimmie  almost  perished  with  apoplexy: 
"You,  you?"  he  mumbled.  "Why,  of  course  not. 
You're  not  the  only  bridegroom  on  the  train." 

Mallory  tossed  him  the  towel  again :  "You  meant 
Mr.  Lathrop  then?" 

"Me !    Not  much !"  roared  the  indignant  Lathrop. 

Mallory  returned  to  Wellington  with  a  fiercer: 
"Whom,  then?" 

He  was  in  a  dangerous  mood,  and  Ashton  came 
to  the  rescue:  "Oh,  don't  mind  Wellington.  He's 
not  sober  yet." 

This  inspired  suggestion  came  like  a  life-buoy  to 
the  hard-pressed  Wellington.  He  seized  it  and  spoke 
thickly:  "Don't  mind  me — I'm  not  shober  yet." 


EXCUSE  ME! 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  you're  not,"  was  Malloi*y\ 
final  growl  as  he  began  his  own  toilet. 

The  porter's  bell  began  to  ring  furiously,,  with  a 
touch  they  had  already  come  to  recognize  as  thfi 
Englishman's.  The  porter  had  learned  to  recognize 
it,  too,  and  he  always  took  double  the  necessary  time 
to  answer  it.  He  was  sauntering  down  the  aisle  a1f. 
his  most  leisurely  gait  when  Wedgewood's  rumpled 
mane  shot  out  from  the  curtains  like  a  lion's  from  .9 
jungle,  and  he  bellowed :  "Pawtah !  Pawtah !" 

"Still  on  the  train,"  said  the  porter. 

"You  may  give  me  my  portmanteau." 

"Yassah."  He  dragged  it  from  the  upper  berth, 
and  set  it  inside  Wedgewood's  berth  without  spe- 
cial care  as  to  its  destination.  "Does  you  desire 
anything  else,  sir?" 

"Yes,  your  absence,"  said  Wedgewood. 

"The  same  to  you  and  many  of  them,"  the  porter 
muttered  to  himself,  and  added  to  Marjorie,  who 
was  just  starting  down  the  aisle:  "I'll  suttainly  be 
interested  in  that  man  gittin'  where  he's  goin'  to  git 
to."  Noting  that  she  carried  Snoozleums,  he  said: 
"We're  comin'  into  a  station  right  soon."  Without 
further  discussion  she  handed  him  the  dog,  and  he 
hobbled  away. 

When  she  reached  the  women's  door,  she  found 
Mrs.  Wellington  waiting  with  increasing  exaspera- 
tion: "Come,  join  the  line  at  the  box  office,"  she 
said. 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY      245 

"Good  morning.  Who's  in  there?"  said  Mar- 
jorie,  and  Mrs.  Wellington,  not  noting  that  Mrs. 
Whitcomb  had  come  out  of  her  berth  and  fallen  into 
line,  answered  sharply: 

"I  don't  know.  She's  been  there  forever.  I'm 
sure  it's  that  cat  of  a  Mrs.  Whitcomb." 

"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Mallory,"  snapped  Mrs. 
Whitcomb. 

Mrs.  Wellington  was  rather  proud  that  the  ran- 
dom shot  landed,  but  Marjorie  felt  most  uneasy 
between  the  two  tigresses:  "Good  morning,  Mrs. 
Whitcomb,"  she  said.  There  was  a  disagreeable 
silence,  broken  finally  by  Mrs.  Wellington's:  "Oh, 
Mrs.  Mallory,  would  you  be  angelic  enough  to  hook 
my  gown?" 

;'Of  course  I  will,"  said  Marjorie. 

"May  I  hook  you?"  said  Mrs.  Whitcomb. 

"You're  awfully  kind,"  said  Marjorie,  presenting 
her  shoulders  to  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  who  asked  with 
malicious  sweetness:  "Why  didn't  your  husband  do 
this  for  you  this  morning?" 

"I — I  don't  remember,"  Marjorie  stammered, 
and  Mrs.  Wellington  tossed  over-shoulder  an  apo- 
thegm :  "He's  no  husband  till  he's  hook-broken." 

Just  then  Mrs.  Fosdick  came  out  of  her  stateroom. 
Seeing  Mrs.  Whitcomb's  waist  agape,  she  went  at  it 
with  a  brief,  "Good  morning,  everybody.  Permit 
me." 

Mrs.  Wellington  twisted  her  head  to  say  "Good 


246  EXCUSE  ME! 

morning,"  and  to  ask,  "Are  you  hooked,  Mrs.  Fas- 
dick?" 

"Not  yet,"  pouted  Mrs.  Fosdick. 

"Turn  round  and  back  up,"  said  Mrs.  Wellington. 
After  some  maneuvering,  the  women  formed  a  com- 
plete circle,  and  fingers  plied  hooks  and  eyes  in  a 
veritable  Ladies'  Mutual  Aid  Society. 

By  now,  Wedgewood  was  ready  to  appear  in  a 
bathrobe  about  as  gaudy  as  the  royal  standard  of 
Great  Britain.  He  stalked  down  the  aisle,  and  an- 
swered the  male  chorus's  cheery  "Good  morning" 
with  a  ramlike  "Baw." 

Ira  Lathrop  felt  amiable  even  toward  the  for- 
eigner, and  he  observed:  "Glorious  morning  this 
morning." 

"I  dare  say,"  growled  Wedgewood.  "I  don't  go 
in  much  for  mawnings — especially  when  I  have  no 
tub." 

Wellington  felt  called  upon  to  squelch  him:  "You 
Englishmen  never  had  a  real  tub  till  we  Americans 
sold  'em  to  you." 

"I  dare  say,"  said  Wedgewood  indifferently. 
"You  sell  'em.  We  use  'em.  But,  do  you  know,  I've 
just  thought  out  a  ripping  idea.  I  shall  have  my  cold 
bath  this  mawning  after  all." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  growled  Lathrop. 
"Crawl  in  the  icewater  tank?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no.  I  shouldn't  be  let,"  and  he  pro- 
duced from  his  pocket  a  rubber  hose.  "I  simply 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY  247 

affix  this  little  tube  to  one  end  of  the  spigot  and  wave 
the  sprinklah  hyah  over  my — er — my  person." 

Lathrop  stared  at  him  pityingly,  and  demanded: 
"What  happens  to  the  water,  then?" 

"What  do  I  care?"  said  Wedgewood. 

"You  durned  fool,  you'd  flood  the  car." 

Wedgewood's  high  hopes  withered.  "I  hadn't 
thought  of  that,"  he  sighed.  "I  suppose  I  must  con- 
tinue just  as  I  am  till  I  reach  San  Francisco.  The 
first  thing  I  shall  order  to-night  will  be  four  cold 
tubs  and  a  lemon  squash." 

While  the  men  continued  to  make  themselves  pre- 
sentable in  a  huddle,  the  hook-and-eye  society  at  the 
.other  end  of  the  car  finished  with  the  four  waists^ 
and  Mrs.  Fosdick  hurried  away  to  keep  her  tryst  in 
the  dining-car.  The  three  remaining  relapsed  int* 
dreary  attitudes.  Mrs.  Wellington  sh^k  the  knob 
of  the  forbidding  door,  and  turned  to  complain: 
"What  in  heaven's  name  ails  the  creature  in  there. 
She  must  have  fallen  out  of  the  window." 

"It's  outrageous,"  said  Marjorie,  "the  way 
women  violate  women's  rights." 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  saw  an  opportunity  to  insert  a 
stiletto.  She  observed  to  Marjorie,  with  an  innocent 
air:  "Why,  Mrs.  Mallory,  I've  even  known  women 
to  lock  themselves  in  there  and  smoke!" 

While  Mrs.  Wellington  was  rummaging  her  brain 
for  a  fitting  retort,  the  door  opened,  and  out  stepped 
Miss  Cattle,  as  was. 


248  EXCUSE  ME! 

She  blushed  furiously  at  sight  of  the  committee 
waiting  to  greet  her,  but  they  repented  their  criti- 
cisms and  tried  to  make  up  for  them  by  the  excessive 
warmth  with  which  they  all  exclaimed  at  once: 
"Good  morning,  Mrs.  Lathrop!" 

"Good  morning,  who?"  said  Anne,  then  blushed 
yet  redder:  "Oh,  I  can't  seem  to  get  used  to  that 
name!  I  hope  I  haven't  kept  you  waiting?" 

"Oh,  not  at  all!"  the  women  insisted,  and  Anne 
fled  to  number  Six,  remembered  that  this  was  no 
longer  her  home,  and  moved  on  to  number  One. 
Here  the  porter  was  just  finishing  his  restoring  tasks, 
and  laying  aside  with  some  diffidence  two  garments 
which  Anne  hastily  stuffed  into  her  own  valise. 

Meanwhile  Marjorie  was  pushing  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton ahead: 

"You  go  in  first,  Mrs.  Wellington." 

"You  go  first.  I  have  no  husband  waiting  for 
me,"  said  Mrs.  Wellington. 

"Oh,  I  insist,"  said  Marjorie. 

"I  couldn't  think  of  it,"  persisted  Mrs.  Welling- 
ton. "I  won't  allow  you." 

And  then  Mrs.  Whitcomb  pushed  them  both 
aside:  "Pardon  me,  won't  you?  I'm  getting  off  at 
Reno." 

"So  am  I,"  gasped  Mrs.  Wellington,  rushing  for- 
ward, only  to  be  faced  by  the  slam  of  the  door  and 
the  click  of  the  key.  She  whirled  back  to  demand 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY  249 

of  Marjorie:  "Did  you  ever  hear  of  such  impu- 
dence?" 

"I  never  did." 

"I'll  never  be  ready  for  Reno,"  Mrs.  Wellington 
wailed,  "and  I  haven't  had  my  breakfast." 

"You'd  better  order  it  in  advance,"  said  Mar- 
jorie. "It  takes  that  chef  an  hour  to  boil  an  egg 
three  minutes." 

"I  will,  if  I  can  ever  get  my  face  washed,"  sighed 
Mrs.  Wellington. 

And  now  Mrs.  Anne  Lathrop,  after  much  hesita- 
tion, called  timidly:  Porter — porter — please!" 

"Yes — miss — missus!"  he  amended. 

"Will  you  call  my — "  she  gulped — "my  hus- 
band?" 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  the  porter  chuckled,  and  putting 
his  grinning  head  in  at  the  men's  door,  he  bowed  to 
Ira  and  said:  "Excuse  me,  but  you  are  sent  for  by 
the  lady  in  number  One." 

Ashton  slapped  him  on  the  back  and  roared:  "Oh, 
you  married  man!" 

"Well,"  said  Ira,  in  self-defence,  "I  don't  hear 
anybody  sending  for  you."  Wedgewood  grinned  at 
Ashton.  "I  rather  fancy  he  had  you  theah,  old  top, 
eh,  what?" 

Ira  appeared  at  number  One,  and  bending  over 
his  treasure-trove,  spoke  in  a  voice  that  was  pure 
saccharine :  "Are  you  ready  for  breakfast,  dear?" 

"Yes,  Ira." 


250  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Come  along  to  the  dining-car." 

"It's  cosier  here,"  she  said.  "Couldn't  we  have 
k  served  here?" 

"But  it'll  get  all  cold,  and  I'm  hungry,"  pouted  the 
•Id  bachelor,  to  whom  breakfast  was  a  sacred 
institution. 

"All  right,  Ira,"  said  Anne,  glad  to  be  meek; 
"come  along,"  and  she  rose. 

Ira  hesitated.  "Still,  if  you'd  rather,  we'll  eat 
here."  He  sat  down. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  said  Anne;  "we'll  go  where  you 
want  to  go." 

"But  I  want  to  do  what  you  want  to  do." 

"So  do  I — we'll  go,"  said  Anne. 

"We'll  stay." 

"No,  I  insist  on  the  dining-car." 

"Oh,  all  right,  have  your  own  way,"  said  Ira,  as 
if  he  were  being  bullied,  and  liked  it.  Anne  smiled 
at  the  contrariness  of  men,  and  Ira  smiled  at  the 
contrariness  of  women,  and  when  they  reached  the 
vestibule  they  kissed  each  other  in  mutual  for- 
giveness. 

As  Wedgewood  stropped  an  old-fashioned  razor, 
he  said  to  Ashton,  who  was  putting  up  his  safety 
equipment:  "I  say,  old  party,  are  those  safety  razors 
safe?  Can't  you  really  cut  yourself?" 

"Cut  everything  but  hair,"  said  Ashton,  pointing 
to  his  wounded  chin. 

Mallory  put  out  his  hand:  "Would  you  be  kind 
enough  to  lend  me  your  razor  again  this  morning?" 


FRESH  TROUBLE  DAILY  251 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Ashton.  "You'll  find  your 
blade  in  the  box  there." 

Mallory  then  negotiated  the  loan  of  one  more 
fresh  shirt  from  the  Englishman,  and  a  clean  collar 
from  Ashton.  He  rejoiced  that  the  end  of  the  day 
would  bring  him  in  touch  with  his  own  baggage. 
Four  days  of  foraging  on  the  country  was  enougk 
for  this  soldier. 

Also  he  felt,  now  that  he  and  Marjorie  had  lived 
thus  long,  they  could  survive  somehow  till  evening 
brought  them  to  San  Francisco,  where  there  were 
hundreds  of  ministers.  And  then  the  conductor  must 
ruin  his  early  morning  optimism,  though  he  made  his 
appearance  in  the  washroom  with  genial  good  morn- 
ings for  all. 

Mallory  acknowledged  the  greeting,  and  asked  off- 
handedly: "By  the  way,  how's  she  running?" 

The  conductor  answered  even  more  offhandedly: 
"About  two  hours  late — and  losinV 

Mallory  was  transfixed  with  a  new  fear:  "Good 
Lord,  my  transport  sails  at  sunrise." 

"Oh,  we  ought  to  make  'Frisco  by  midnight,  any- 
way." 

"Midnight,  and  sail  at  daylight  1" 

"Unless  we  lose  a  little  more  time." 

Mallory  realized  that  every  new  day  managed  to 
create  its  own  anxieties.  With  the  regularity  of  a 
milkman,  each  morning  left  a  fresh  crisis  on  hia 
doorstep. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

THE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE 

THE  other  passengers  were  growing  nervous  with 
their  own  troubles.  The  next  stop  was  Reno,  and 
in  spite  of  all  the  wit  that  is  heaped  upon  the  town, 
it  is  a  solemn  place  to  those  who  must  go  there 
in  purgatorial  penance  for  matrimonial  error. 

Some  honest  souls  regard  such  divorce-emporiums 
as  dens  of  evil,  where  the  wicked  make  a  mockery 
of  the  sacrament  and  assail  the  foundations  of  soci- 
ety, by  undermining  the  home.  Other  equally  honest 
souls,  believing  that  marriage  is  a  human  institution 
whose  mishaps  and  mistakes  should  be  rectified  as 
far  as  possible,  regard  the  divorce  courts  as  cities 
of  refuge  for  ill-treated  or  ill-mated  women  and  men 
whose  lives  may  be  saved  from  utter  ruination  by 
the  intervention  of  high-minded  judges. 

But,  whichever  view  is  right,  the  ordeal  by  divorce 
is  terrifying  enough  to  the  poor  sinners  or  martyrs 
who  must  undergo  it. 

LittJe  Jimmie  Wellington  turned  pale,  and  stam- 
mered, as  he  tried  to  ask  the  conductor  casually: 

4 What  kind  of  a  place  is  that  Reno?" 

The  conductor,  somewhat  cynical  from  close  asso- 
252 


THE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE     253 

elation  with  the  divorce-mill  and  its  grist,  grinned: 
"That  depends  on  what  you're  leaving  behind.  Most 
folks  seem  to  get  enough  of  it  in  about  six  months." 
Then  he  went  his  way,  leaving  Wellington  red, 
agape  and  perplexed.  The  trouble  with  Welling- 
ton was  that  he  had  brought  along  what  he  was 
leaving  behind.  Or,  as  Ashton  impudently  observed : 
"You  ought  to  enjoy  your  residence  there,  Welling- 
ton, with  your  wife  on  hand." 

The  only  repartee  that  Wellington  could  think  of 

was  a  rather  uninspired:     "You  go  to ." 

"So  long  as  it  isn't  Reno,"  Ashton  laughed,  and 
walked  away. 

Wedgewood  laid  a  sympathetic  hand  on  Little 
Jimmie's  shoulder,  and  said: 

"That  Ashton  is  no  end  of  a  bounder,  what?" 
Wellington  wrote  his  epitaph  in  these  words: 
"Well,  the  worst  I  can  say  of  him  is,  he's  the  kind 
of  man  that  doesn't  lift  the  plug  out  when  he's 
through  with  the  basin." 

He  liked  this  so  well  that  he  wished  he  had 
thought  of  it  in  time  to  crack  it  over  Ashton's  head. 
He  decided  to  hand  it  to  him  anyway.  He  forgot 
that  the  cardinal  rule  for  repartee,  is  "Better  never 
than  late." 

As  he  swung  out  of  the  men's  room  he  was 
buttonholed  by  an  individual  new  to  the  little  Trans- 
American  colony.  One  of  the  camp-followers  and 
sutlers  who  prosper  round  the  edges  of  all  great 


254  EXCUSE  ME! 

enterprises  had  waylaid  him  on  the  way  to  the  battle- 
ground of  marital  freedom. 

The  stranger  had  got  on  at  an  earlier  stop  and 
worked  his  way  through  the  train  to  the  car  named 
"Snowdrop."  Wellington  was  his  first  victim  here. 
His  pushing  manner,  the  almost  vulture-like  rapacity 
of  his  gleaming  eyes,  and  the  very  vulturine  contour 
of  his  profile,  his  palmy  gestures,  his  thick  lisp,  and 
everything  about  him  gave  Wellington  his  immedi- 
ate pedigree. 

It  ill  behooves  Christendom  to  need  reminding 
that  the  Jewish  race  has  adorned  and  still  adorns 
humanity  with  some  of  its  noblest  specimens;  but 
this  interloper  was  of  the  type  that  must  have  irri- 
tated Voltaire  into  answering  the  platitude  that  the 
Jews  are  God's  chosen  people  with  that  other  plati- 
tude, "Tastes  differ." 

Little  Jimmie  Wellington,  hot  in  pursuit  of  Ash- 
ton,  found  himself  checked  in  spite  of  himself;  in 
spite  of  himself  deposited  somehow  into  a  seat,  and 
in  spite  of  himself  confronted  with  a  curvilinear  per- 
son, who  said : 

"Excoose,  pleass!  but  are  you  gettink  off  at 
R-r-reno?" 

"I  am,"  Wellington  answered,  curtly,  essaying  to 
rise,  only  to  be  delicately  restored  to  his  place  with 
a  gesture  and  a  phrase: 

"Then  you  neet  me." 

"Oh,  I  need  you,  do  I?    And  who  are  you?" 


TEE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE     255 

"Who  ain't  I?  I  am  Baumann  and  Blumen.  Our 
cart,  pleass." 

Wellington  found  a  pasteboard  in  his  hand  and 
read  the  legend : 


Real   Estate   Agents.  Baggage  Transfer. 

Saitmamt  &  Blumcn 
DIVORCE  OUTFITTERS, 

212  Alimony  Avenue,  Reno,  Nev. 


Notary  Public.  Divorces  Secured. 

Justice  of  the  Peace.  Satisfaction  Guaranteed. 


Wellington  looked  from  the  crowded  card  to  the 
zealous  face.  "Divorce  Outfitters,  eh?  I  don't 
quite  get  you." 

"Veil,  in  the  foist  place " 

"  The  foist  place,'  eh?  You're  from  New 
York." 

"Yes,  oritchinally.  How  did  you  know  it?  By 
my  feshionable  clothink?" 

"Yes,"  laughed  Wellington.  "But  you  say  I  need 
you.  How?" 

"Veil,  you've  got  maybe  some  beggetch,  some 
trunks — yes  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Veil,  in  the  foist  place,  I  am  an  expressman.  I 
deliver  'em  to  your  address — yes?  Vere  iss  it?" 


256  EXCUSE  ME! 

"I  haven't  got  any  yet." 

"Also  I  am  addressman.  Do  you  vant  it  a  nice 
hotel? — or  a  fine  house? — or  an  apartment? — or 
maybe  a  boarding-house? — yes?  How  long  do  you 
make  a  residence?" 

"Six  months." 

"No  longer?" 

"Not  a  minute." 

"Take  a  fine  house,  den.  I  got  some  beauties  just 
wacated." 

"For  a  year? — no  thanks." 

"All  the  leases  in  Reno  run  for  six  months 
only." 

"Well,  I'd  like  to  look  around  a  little  first." 

"Good.  Don't  forget  us.  You  come  out  here  for 
six  months.  You  vant  maybe  a  good  quick  divorce — 
yes?" 

"The  quickest  I  can  get." 

"Do  you  vant  it  confidential?  or  very  nice  and 
noisy?" 

"What's  that?" 

"Ve  are  press  agents  and  also  suppress  agents. 
Some  likes  'em  one  way,  some  likes  'em  anudder. 
Vich  do  you  vant  it?" 

"Quick  and  quiet." 

"Painless  divorce  is  our  specialty.  If  you  pay  me 
an  advence  deposit  now,  I  file  your  claim  de  minute 
de  train  stops  and  your  own  vife  don't  know  you're 
divorced." 


THE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE     257 

"I'll  think  it  over,"  said  Wellington,  rising  with 
resolution-. 

"Don't  forget  us.  iSaumann  and  Blumen.  Satis- 
faction guaranteed  or  your  wife  refunded.  Avoid 
substitoots."  And  then,  seeing  that  he  could  not  ex- 
tract any  cash  from  Little  Jimmie,  Mr.  Baumann 
descended  upon  Mallory,  who  was  just  finishing  his 
shave.  Laying  his  hand  on  Mallory's  arm,  he  be- 
gan: 

"Excoose,  pleass.  Can  I  fit  you  out  vit  a  nice 
divorce?" 

"Divorce? — me! — that's  good,"  laughed  Mallory 
at  the  vision  of  it.  Then  a  sudden  idea  struck  him. 
It  took  no  great  genius  to  see  that  Mr.  Baumann 
was  not  a  clergyman,  but  there  were  other  marriers 
to  be  had.  "You  don't  perform  marriages,  do  you  ?" 
he  asked. 

Mr.  Baumann  drew  himself  up :  "Who  says  I 
don't?  Ain't  I  a  justice  of  the  peaces?" 

Mallory  put  out  his  hand  in  welcome:  then  a  new 
anxiety  chilled  him.  He  had  a  license  for  Chicago, 
but  Chicago  was  far  away:  "Do  I  need  a  license 
in  Nevada  ?" 

"Why  shouldn't  you?"  said  Mr.  Baumann. 
"Don't  all  sorts  of  things  got  to  have  a  license  in 
Nevada,  saloons,  husbands,  dogs " 

"How  could  I  get  one?"  Mallory  asked  as  he 
went  on  dressing. 


258  EXCUSE  HE! 

"Ain't  I  got  a  few  vit  me?  Do  you  vant  to  get 
a  nice  re-marriage  license?" 

"Re-marriage? — huh!"  he  looked  round  and,  see- 
ing that  no  one  else  was  near:  "I  haven't  taken  the 
first  step  yet." 

Mr.  Baumann  laved  his  hands  in  one  another :  "A 
betchelor?  Ah,  I  see  you  vant  to  marry  a  nice  di- 
vorcee lady  in  R-r-reno  ?" 

"She  isn't  in  Reno  and  she  has  never  been  mar- 
ried, either." 

This  simple  statement  seemed  to  astound  Mr. 
Baumann: 

"A  betcheller  marry  a  maiden ! — in  Reno ! — oi,  oi, 
oi !  It  hasn't  been  done  yet,  but  it  might  be." 

Mallory  looked  him  over  and  a  twinge  of  distaste 
disturbed  him:  "You  furnish  the  license,  but — er — 
ah — is  there  any  chance  of  a  clergyman — a  Christian 
clergyman — being  at  the  station?" 

"Vy  do  you  vant  it  a  cloigyman?  Can't  I  do  it 
just  as  good  ?  Or  a  nice  fat  alderman  I  can  get  you  ?" 

Mallory  pondered :  "I  don't  think  she'd  like  any- 
thing but  a  clergyman." 

"Veil,"  Baumann  confessed,  "a  lady  is  liable  to 
be  particular  about  her  foist  marriage.  Anyvay  I 
sell  you  de  license." 

"All  right." 

Mr.  Baumann  whipped  out  a  portfolio  full  of 
documents,  and  as  he  searched  them,  philosophized: 
"A  man  ought  alvays  to  carry  a  good  marriage  li- 


THE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE  259 

cense.  It  might  be  he  should  need  it  in  a  hurry." 
He  took  a  large  iron  seal  from  his  side-pocket  and 
stamped  the  paper  and  then,  with  fountain  pen 
poised,  pleaded:  "Vat  is  the  names,  pleass?" 

"Not  so  loud!"  Mallory  whispered. 

Baumann  put  his  finger  to  his  nose,  wisely:  "I 
see,  it  is  a  confidential  marriage.  Sit  down  once." 

When  he  had  asked  Mallory  the  necessary  ques- 
tions and  taken  his  fee,  he  passed  over  the  document 
by  which  the  sovereign  state  of  Nevada  graciously 
permitted  two  souls  to  be  made  more  or  less  one  in 
the  eyes  of  the  law. 

"Here  you  are,"  said  Mr.  Baumann.  "Vit  dat 
you  can  get  married  anyvere  in  Nevada." 

Mallory  realized  that  Nevada  would  be  a  thing 
of  the  past  in  a  few  hours  more  and  he  asked: 

"It's  no  good  in  California?" 

"Himmel,  no.  In  California  you  bot'  gotta  go 
and  be  examined." 

"Examined!"  Mallory  gasped,  in  dire  alarm. 

"Vit  questions,  poissonally,"  Mr.  Baumann  has- 
tened to  explain. 

"Oh!" 

"In  Nevada,"  Baumann  insinuated,  still  hopeful, 
"I  could  marry  you  myself — now,  right  here." 

"Could  you  marry  us  in  this  smoking  room?" 

"In  a  cattle  car,  if  you  vant  it." 

"It's  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  Mallory.  "I'll  let  you 
know." 


260  EXCUSE  ME! 

Seeing  Marjorie  coming  down  the  aisle,  he  has- 
tened to  her,  and  hugged  her  good-morning  with  a 
new  confidence. 

Dr.  and  Mrs.  Temple,  who  had  returned  to  their 
berth,  witnessed  this  greeting  with  amazement.  After 
the  quarrel  of  the  night  before  surely  some  explana- 
tion should  have  been  overheard,  but  the  puzzling 
Mallorys  flew  to  each  other's  arms  without  a  mo- 
ment's delay.  The  mystery  was  exciting  the  pas- 
sengers to  such  a  point  that  they  were  vowing  to 
ask  a  few  questions  point  blank.  Nobody  had  quite 
dared  to  approach  either  of  them,  but  frank  curi- 
osity was  preferable  to  nervous  prostration,  and 
the  secret  could  not  be  kept  much  longer.  Fellow- 
passengers  have  some  rights.  Not  even  a  stranger 
can  be  permitted  to  outrage  their  curiosity  with  im- 
punity forever. 

Seeing  them  together,  Mrs.  Temple  watched  the 
embrace  with  her  daily  renewal  of  joy  that  the  last 
night's  quarrel  had  not  proved  fatal.  She  nudged 
her  husband : 

"See,  they're  making  up  again." 

Dr.  Temple  was  moved  to  a  violent  outburst  for 
him:  "Well,  that's  the  darnedest  bridal  couple — I 
only  said  darn,  my  dear." 

He  was  still  more  startled  when  Mr.  Baumann, 
cruising  along  the  aisle,  bent  over  to  murmur:  "Can 
I  fix  you  a  nice  divorce?" 

Dr.  Temple  rose  in  such  an  attitude  of  horror  as 


THE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE  261 

he  assumed  in  the  pulpit  when  denouncing  the  great- 
est curse  of  society,  and  Mr.  Baumann  retired.  As 
he  passed  Mallory  he  cast  an  appreciative  glance 
at  Marjorie  and,  tapping  Mallory's  shoulder,  whis- 
pered: "No  vonder  you  want  a  marriage  license. 
I'll  be  in  the  next  car,  should  you  neet  me."  Then 
he  went  on  his  route. 

Marjorie  stared  after  him  in  wonder  and  asked: 
"What  did  that  person  mean  by  what  he  said?" 

"It's  all  right,  Marjorie,"  Mallory  explained,  in 
the  highest  cheer:  "We  can  get  married  right 
away." 

Marjorie  declined  to  get  her  hopes  up  again: 
"You're  always  saying  that." 

"But  here's  the  license — see?" 

"What  good  is  that?"  she  said,  "there's  no 
preacher  on  board." 

"But  that  man  is  a  justice  of  the  peace  and  he'll 
marry  us." 

Marjorie  stared  at  him  incredulously:  "That 
creature ! — before  all  these  passengers  ?" 

"Not  at  all,"  Mallory  explained.  "We'll  go  into 
the  smoking  room." 

Marjorie  leaped  to  her  feet,  aghast:  "Elope  two 
thousand  miles  to  be  married  in  a  smoking  room  by 
a  Yiddish  drummer !  Harry  Mallory,  you're  crazy." 

Put  just  that  way,  the  proposition  did  not  look 
so  alluring  as  at  first.  He  sank  back  with  a  sigh: 
"I  guess  I  am.  I  resign." 


262  EXCUSE  ME! 

He  was  as  weary  of  being  "foiled  again"  as  the 
villain  of  a  cheap  melodrama.  The  two  lovers  sat 
in  a  twilight  of  deep  melancholy,  till  Marjorie's  mind 
dug  up  a  new  source  of  alarm: 

"Harry,  I've  just  thought  of  something  terrible." 

"Let's  have  it,"  he  sighed,  drearily. 

"We  reach  San  Francisco  at  midnight  and  you 
sail  at  daybreak.  What  becomes  of  me?" 

Mallory  had  no  answer  to  this  problem,  except  a 
grim:  "I'll  not  desert  you." 

"But  we'll  have  no  time  to  get  married." 

"Then,"  he  declared  with  iron  resolve,  "then  I'll 
resign  from  the  Army." 

Marjorie  stared  at  him  with  awe.  He  was  so 
wonderful,  so  heroic.  "But  what  will  the  country 
do  without  you?" 

"It  will  have  to  get  along  the  best  it  can,"  he 
answered  with  finality.  "Do  you  think  I'd  give  you 
up?" 

But  this  was  too  much  to  ask.  In  the  presence 
of  a  ruined  career  and  a  hero-less  army,  Marjorie 
felt  that  her  own  scruples  were  too  petty  to  count 
She  could  be  heroic,  too. 

"No!"  she  said,  in  a  deep,  low  tone,  "No,  we'll 
get  married  in  the  smoking  room.  Go  call  your 
drummer!" 

This  opened  the  clouds  and  let  in  the  sun  again 
with  such  a  radiant  blaze  that  Mallory  hesitated 
no  longer.  "Fine!"  he  cried,  and  leaped  to  his 


263 

feet,  only  to  be  detained  again  by  Marjorie's  clutch: 

"But  first,  what  about  that  bracelet?" 

"She's  got  it,"  Mallory  groaned,  slumping  from 
the  heights  again. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  she's  still  wearing  it?" 

"How  was  I  to  get  it?" 

"Couldn't  you  have  slipped  into  her  car  last  night 
and  stolen  it?" 

"Good  Lord,  I  shouldn't  think  you'd  want  me  to 
go — why,  Marjorie — I'd  be  arrested!" 

But  Marjorie  set  her  jaw  hard:  "Well,  you  get 
that  bracelet,  or  you  don't  get  me."  And  then  her 
smouldering  jealousy  and  grief  took  a  less  hateful 
tone :  "Oh,  Harry !"  she  wailed,  "I'm  so  lonely  and 
so  helpless  and  so  far  from  home." 

"But  I'm  here,"  he  urged. 

"You're  farther  away  than  anybody,"  she  whim- 
pered, huddling  close  to  him. 

"Poor  little  thing,"  he  murmured,  soothing  her 
with  voice  and  kiss  and  caress. 

"Put  your  arm  round  me,"  she  cooed,  like  a 
mourning  dove,  "I  don't  care  if  everybody  is  look- 
ing. Oh,  I'm  so  lonely." 

"I'm  just  as  lonely  as  you  are,"  he  pleaded,  trying 
to  creep  into  the  company  of  her  misery. 

"Please  marry  me  soon,"  she  implored,  "won't 
you,  please?" 

"I'd  marry  you  this  minute  if  you'd  say  the  word," 
he  whispered. 


264  EXCUSE  ME! 

"I'd  say  it  if  you  only  had  that  bracelet,"  she 
sobbed,  like  a  tired  child.  "I  should  think  you  would 
understand  my  feelings.  That  awful  person  is  wear- 
ing your  bracelet  and  I  have  only  your  ring,  and  her 
bracelet  is  ten  times  as  big  as  my  r-i-ing,  boo-hoo- 
hoo-oo!" 

"I'll  get  that  bracelet  if  I  have  to  chop  her  arm 
off,"  Mallory  vowed. 

The  sobs  stopped  short,  as  Marjorie  looked  up 
to  ask:  "Have  you  got  your  sword  with  you?" 

"It's  in  my  trunk,"  he  said,  "but  I'll  manage. * 

"Now  you're  speaking  like  a  soldier,"  Marjorie 
exclaimed,  "my  brave,  noble,  beautiful,  fearless  hus- 
band. I'll  tell  you !  That  creature  will  pass  through 
this  car  on  her  way  to  breakfast.  You  grab  her 
and  take  the  bracelet  away  from  her." 

"I  grab  her,  eh?"  he  stammered,  his  heroism  wa- 
vering a  trifle. 

"Yes,  just  grab  her." 

"Suppose  she  hasn't  the  bracelet  on?"  he  mused. 

"Grab  her  anyway,"  Marjorie  answered,  fiercely. 
"Besides,  I've  no  doubt  it's  wished  on."  He  said 
nothing.  "You  did  wish  it  on,  didn't  you?" 

"No,  no — never — of  course  not — "  he  protested 
"If  you'll  only  be  calm.  I'll  get  it  if  I  have  to 
throttle  her." 

Like  a  young  Lady  Macbeth,  Marjorie  gave  him 
her  utter  approval  in  any  atrocity,  and  they  sat  in 
ambush  for  their  victim  to  pass  into  view. 


THE  COMPLETE  DIVORCEE     265 

They  had  not  had  their  breakfast,  but  they  forgot 
it.  A  dusky  waiter  went  by  chanting  his  "Lass  call 
for  breakfuss  in  Rining  Rar."  He  chanted  it  thrice 
in  their  ears,  but  they  never  heard.  Marjorie  was 
gloating  over  the  discomfiture  of  the  odious  creature 
who  had  dared  to  precede  her  in  the  acquaintance  of 
her  husband-to-be.  The  husband-to-be  was  miser- 
ably wishing  that  he  had  to  face  a  tribe  of  bolo- 
brandishing  Moros,  instead  of  this  trivial  girl  whom 
he  had  looked  upon  when  her  cheeks  were  red. 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

MR.  AND  MRS.  LITTLE  JIMMIE 

MRS.  SAMMY  WHITCOMB  had  longed  for  the  sweet 
privilege  of  squaring  matters  with  Mrs.  Jimmie  Wel- 
lington. Sneers  and  back-biting,  shrugs  and  shud- 
ders of  contempt  were  poor  compensation  for  the 
ever-vivid  fact  that  Mrs.  Wellington  had  proved 
attractive  to  her  Sammy  while  Mrs.  Wellington's 
Jimmie  never  looked  at  Mrs.  Whitcomb.  Or  if  he 
did,  his  eyes  had  been  sc  blurred  that  he  had  seen 
two  of  her — and  avoided  both. 

Yesterday  she  had  overheard  Jimmie  vow  sobri- 
ety. To-day  his  shining  morning  face  showed  that 
he  had  kept  his  word.  She  could  hardly  wait  to 
begin  the  flirtation  which,  she  trusted,  would  render 
Mrs.  Wellington  helplessly  furious  for  six  long  Reno 
months. 

The  Divorce  Drummer  interposed  and  held 
Jimmie  prisoner  for  a  time,  but  as  soon  as  Mr.  Bau- 
mann  released  him,  Mrs.  Whitcomb  apprehended 
him.  With  a  smile  that  beckoned  and  with  eyes  that 
went  out  like  far-cast  fishhooks,  she  drew  Leviathan 
into  her  net. 

266 


MR.  AND  MRS.  LITTLE  JIMMIE       267 

She  reeled  him  in  and  he  plounced  in  the  seat 
opposite.  What  she  took  for  bashfulness  was  re- 
luctance. To  add  the  last  charm  to  her  success, 
Mrs.  Wellington  arrived  to  see  it.  Mrs.  Whitcomb 
saw  the  lonely  Ashton  rise  and  offer  her  the  seat 
facing  him.  Mrs.  Wellington  took  it  and  sat  down 
with  the  back  of  her  head  so  close  to  the  back  of 
Mr.  Wellington's  head  that  the  feather  in  her  hat 
tickled  his  neck. 

Jimmie  Wellington  had  seen  his  wife  pass  by..  To 
his  sober  eyes  she  was  a  fine  sight  as  she  moved  up 
the  aisle.  In  his  alcohol-emancipated  mind  the  keen 
sense  of  wrong  endured  that  had  driven  him  forth 
to  Reno  began  to  lose  its  edge.  His  own  soul  ap- 
pealed from  Jimmie  drunk  to  Jimmie  sober.  The 
appellate  judge  began  to  reverse  the  lower  court's 
decision,  point  by  point. 

He  felt  a  sudden  recrudescence  of  jealousy  as  he 
heard  Ashton's  voice  unctuously,  flirtatiously  offer- 
ing his  wife  hospitality.  He  wanted  to  trounce  Ash- 
ton.  But  what  right  had  he  to  defend  from  gal- 
lantry the  woman  he  was  about  to  forswear  before 
the  world?  Jimmie's  soul  was  in  turmoil,  and  Mrs. 
Whitcomb's  pretty  face  and  alluring  smile  only  an- 
noyed him. 

She  had  made  several  gracious  speeches  before  he 
quite  comprehended  any  of  them.  Then  he  realized 
that  she  was  saying:  "I'm  so  glad  you* re  going  to 
stop  at  Reno,  Mr.  Wellington." 


,68  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Thank  you.  So  am  I,"  he  mumbled,  trying  to 
look  interested  and  wishing  that  his  wife's  plume 
would  not  tickle  his  neck. 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  went  on,  leaning  closer:  "We 
two  poor  mistreated  wretches  must  try  to  console 
one  another,  musn't  we?" 

"Yes, — yes, — we  must,"  Wellington  nodded,  with 
a  sickly  cheer. 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  leaned  a  little  closer.  "Do  you 
know  that  I  feel  almost  related  to  you,  Mr.  Wel- 
lington?" 

"Related?"  he  echoed,  "you?— to  me?     How?" 

"My  husband  knew  your  wife  so  well." 

Somehow  a  wave  of  jealous  rage  surged  over  him, 
and  he  growled:  "Your  husband  is  a  scoundrel." 

Mrs.  Whitcomb's  smile  turned  to  vinegar:  "Oh, 
I  can't  permit  you  to  slander  the  poor  boy  behind 
his  back.  It  was  all  your  wife's  fault." 

Wellington  amazed  himself  by  his  own  bravery 
when  he  heard  himself  volleying  back:  "And  I 
can't  permit  you  to  slander  my  wife  behind  her  back. 
It  was  all  your  husband's  fault." 

Mrs.  Jimmie  overheard  this  behind  her  back,  and 
it  strangely  thrilled  her.  She  ignored  Ashton's  ex- 
istence and  listened  for  Mrs.  Whitcomb's  next  re- 
tort. It  consisted  of  a  simple,  icy  drawl:  "I  think 
I'll  go  to  breakfast." 

She  seemed  to  pick  up  Ashton  with  her  eyes  as  she 
glided  by,  for,  finding  himself  unnoticed,  he  rose 


MB.  AND  MRS.  LITTLE  JIMMIE       269 

with  a  careless:  "I  think  I'll  go  to  breakfast,"  and 
followed  Mrs.  Whitcomb.  The  Wellingtons  sat 
dos-a-dos  for  some  exciting  seconds,  and  then  on  a 
sudden  impulse,  Mrs.  Jimmie  rose,  knelt  in  the  seat 
and  spoke  across  the  back  of  it: 

"It  was  very  nice  of  you  to  defend  me,  Jimmie — 
er — James." 

Wellington  almost  dislocated  several  joints  in 
rising  quickly  and  whirling  round  at  the  cordiality 
of  her  tone.  But  his  smile  vanished  at  her  last  word. 
He  protested,  feebly:  "James  sounds  so  like  a — a 
butler.  Can't  you  call  me  Little  Jimmie  again?" 

Mrs.  Wellington  smiled  indulgently:  "Well,  since 
it's  the  last  time.  Good-bye,  Little  Jimmie."  And 
she  put  out  her  hand.  He  seized  it  hungrily  and 
clung  to  it:  "Good-bye? — aren't  you  getting  off  at 
Reno?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"So  am  I — Lucretia." 

"But  we  can't  afford  to  be  seen  together." 

Still  holding  her  hand,  he  temporized:  "We've 
got  to  stay  married  for  six  months  at  least — while 
we  establish  a  residence.  Couldn't  we — cr — couldn't 
we  establish  a  residence — er — together?" 

Mrs.  Wellington's  eyes  grew  a  little  sad,  as  she 
answered:  "It  would  be  too  lonesome  waiting  for 
you  to  roll  home." 

Jimmie  stared  at  her.  He  felt  the  regret  in  her 
voice  and  took  strange  courage  from  it.  He  hauled 


270  EXCUSE  ME! 

from  his  pocket  his  huge  flask,  and  said  quickly: 
"Well,  if  you're  jealous  of  this,  I'll  promise  to  cork 
it  up  forever." 

She  shook  her  head  skeptically:    "You  couldn't." 

"Just  to  prove  it,"  he  said,  "I'll  chuck  it  out  of 
the  window."  He  flung  up  the  sash  and  made  ready 
to  hurl  his  enemy  into  the  flying  landscape. 

"Bravo!"  cried  Mrs.  Wellington. 

But  even  as  his  hand  was  about  to  let  go,  he  tight- 
ened his  clutch  again,  and  pondered:  "It  seems  a 
shame  to  waste  it." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  Mrs.  Jimmie,  drooping  per- 
ceptibly. Her  husband  began  to  feel  that,  after  all, 
she  cared  what  became  of  him. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  he  said,  "I'll  give  it  to  old  Doc 
Temple.  He  takes  his  straight." 

"Fine!" 

He  turned  towards  the  seat  where  the  clergyman 
and  his  wife  were  sitting,  oblivious  of  the  drama  of 
reconciliation  playing  so  close  at  hand.  Little 
Jimmie  paused,  caressed  the  flask,  and  kissed  it. 
"Good-bye,  old  playmate!"  Then,  tossing  his  head 
with  bravado,  he  reached  out  and  touched  the  clergy- 
man's shoulder.  Dr.  Temple  turned  and  rose  with 
a  questioning  look.  Wellington  put  the  flask  in  his 
hand  and  chuckled:  "Merry  Christmas!" 

"But,  my  good  man "  the  preacher  objected, 

finding  in  his  hand  a  donation  about  as  welcome 


MR.  AND  MRS.  LITTLE  JIMMIE       271 

and  as  wieldy  as  a  strange  baby.  Wellington  winked: 
"It  may  come  in  handy  for — your  patients." 

And  now,  struck  with  a  sudden  idea,  Mrs.  Wel- 
lington spoke:  "Oh,  Mrs.  Temple." 

"Yes,  my  dear,"  said  the  little  old  lady,  rising. 
Mrs.  Wellington  placed  in  her  hand  a  small  port- 
folio and  laughed:  "Happy  New  Year!" 

Mrs.  Temple  stared  at  her  gift  and  gasped: 
"Great  heavens !  Your  cigars !" 

"They'll  be  such  a  consolation,"  Mrs.  Wellington 
explained,  "while  the  Doctor  is  out  with  his  pa- 
tients." 

Dr.  Temple  and  Mrs.  Temple  looked  at  each 
other  in  dismay,  then  at  the  flask  and  the  cigars,  then 
at  the  Wellingtons,  then  they  stammered:  "Thank 
you  so  much,"  and  sank  back,  stupefied. 

Wellington  stared  at  his  wife:  "Lucretia,  are 
you  sincere?" 

"Jimmie,  I  promise  you  I'll  never  smoke  another 
cigar." 

"My  love !"  he  cried,  and  seized  her  hand.  "You 
know  I  always  said  you  were  a  queen  among  women, 
Lucretia." 

She  beamed  back  at  him :  "And  you  always  werd 
the  prince  of  good  fellows,  Jimmie."  Then  she 
almost  blushed  as  she  murmured,  almost  shyly: 
"May  I  pour  your  coffee  for  you  again  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"For  life,"  he  whispered,  and  they  moved  up  the 


272  EXCUSE  ME! 

aisle,  arm  in  arm,  bumping  from  seat  to  seat  and 
not  knowing  it. 

When  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  seated  in  the  dining-car, 
saw  Mrs.  Little  Jimime  pour  Mr.  Little  Jimmie's 
coffee,  she  choked  on  hers.  She  vowed  that  she 
would  not  permit  those  odious  Wellingtons  to  make 
fools  of  her  and  her  Sammy.  She  resolved  to  tele- 
graph Sammy  that  she  had  changed  her  mind  about 
divorcing  him,  and  order  him  to  take  the  first  train 
West  and  meet  her  half-way  on  her  journey  home. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

A  DUEL  FOR  A  BRACELET 

ALL  this  while  Marjorie  and  Mallory  had  sat 
watching,  as  kingfishers  shadow  a  pool,  the  door 
wherethrough  the  girl  with  the  bracelet  must  pass 
on  her  way  to  breakfast. 

"She's  taking  forever  with  her  toilet,"  sniffed 
Marjorie.  "Probably  trying  to  make  a  special  im- 
pression on  you." 

"She's  wasting  her  time,"  said  Mallory.  "But 
what  if  she  brings  her  mother  along?  No,  I  guess 
her  mother  is  too  fat  to  get  there  and  back." 

"If  her  mother  comes,"  Marjorie  decided,  "I'll 
hold  her  while  you  take  the  bracelet  away  from  the 
— the — from  that  creature.  Quick,  here  she  comes 
now!  Be  brave!" 

Mallory  wore  an  aspect  of  arrant  cowardice :  "Er 
_a  u T T » 

(X 11  JL  JL 

"You  just  grab  her!"  Marjorie  explained.  Then 
they  relapsed  into  attitudes  of  impatient  attention. 
Kathleen  floated  in  and,  seeing  Mallory,  she  greeted 
him  with  radiant  warmth:  "Good  morning!"  and 
then,  catching  sight  of  Marjorie,  gave  her  a  "Good 
morning!"  coated  with  ice.  She  flounced  past  and 

273 


274  EXCUSE  ME! 

Mallory  sat  inert,  till  Marjorie  gave  him  a  fero- 
cious pinch,  whereupon  he  leaped  to  his  feet: 

"Oh,  Miss — er — Miss  Kathleen."  Kathleen 
whirled  round  with  a  most  hospitable  smile.  "May 
I  have  a  word  with  you?" 

"Of  course  you  can,  you  dear  boy."  Marjorie 
winced  at  this  and  writhed  at  what  followed :  "Shan't 
we  take  breakfast  together?" 

Mallory  stuttered:  "I — I — no,  thank  you — I've 
had  breakfast." 

Kathleen  froze  up  again  as  she  snapped:  "With 
that — train-acquaintance,  I  suppose." 

"Oh,  no,"  Mallory  amended,  "I  mean  I  haven't 
had  breakfast." 

But  Kathleen  scowled  with  a  jealousy  of  her  own: 
"You  seem  to  be  getting  along  famously  for  mere 
train-acquaintances." 

"Oh,  that's  all  we  are,  and  hardly  that,"  Mallory 
hastened  to  say  with  too  much  truth.  "Sit  down  here 
a  moment,  won't  you?" 

"No,  no,  I  haven't  time,"  she  said,  and  sat  down. 
"Mamma  will  be  waiting  for  me.  You  haven't  been 
in 'to  see  her  yet?" 

"No.    You  see " 

"She  cried  all  night." 

"Forme?" 

"No,  for  papa.  He's  such  a  good  traveler — and 
he  had  such  a  good  start.  She  really  kept  the  whole 
car  awake." 


A  DUEL  FOR  A  BRACELET  275 

"Too  bad,"  Mallory  condoled,  perfunctorily,  then 
with  sudden  eagerness,  and  a  trial  at  indifference: 
"I  see  you  have  that  bracelet  still." 

"Of  course,  you  dear  fellow.  I  wouldn't  be  parted 
from  it  for  worlds." 

Marjorie  gnashed  her  teeth,  but  Kathleen  could 
not  hear  that.  She  gushed  on:  "And  now  we  have 
met  again!  It  looks  like  Fate,  doesn't  it?" 

"It  certainly  does,"  Mallory  assented,  bitterly; 
then  again,  with  zest :  "Let  me  see  that  old  bracelet, 
will  you?" 

He  tried  to  lay  hold  of  it,  but  Kathleen  giggled 
coyly:  "It's  just  an  excuse  to  hold  my  hand."  She 
swung  her  arm  over  the  back  of  the  seat  coquettishly, 
and  Marjorie  made  a  desperate  lunge  at  it,  but 
missed,  since  Kathleen,  finding  that  Mallory  did  not 
pursue  the  fugitive  hand,  brought  it  back  at  once 
and  yielded  it  up: 

"There — be  careful,  someone  might  look." 

Mallory  took  her  by  the  wrist  in  a  gingerly  man- 
ner, and  said,  "So  that's  the  bracelet?  Take  it  off, 
won't  you?" 

"Never! — it's  wished  on,"  Kathleen  protested, 
sentimentally.  "Don't  you  remember  that  evening 
in  the  moonlight?" 

Mallory  caught  Marjorie's  accusing  eye  and  lost 
his  head.  He  made  a  ferocious  effort  to  snatch 
the  bracelet  off.  When  this  onset  failed,  he  had 
recourse  to  entreaty:  "Just  slip  it  off."  Kathleen 


276  EXCUSE  ME! 

shook  her  head  tantalizingly.  Mallory  urged  more 
strenuously:  "Please  let  me  see  it." 

Kathleen  shook  her  head  with  sophistication: 
"You'd  never  give  it  back.  You'd  pass  it  along  to 
that — train-acquaintance." 

"How  can  you  think  such  a  thing?"  Mallory  de- 
murred, and  once  more  made  his  appeal:  "Please 
please,  slip  it  off." 

"What  on  earth  makes  you  so  anxious?"  Kathleen 
demanded,  with  sudden  suspicion.  Mallory  was 
stumped,  till  an  inspiration  came  to  him:  "I'd  like 
to — to  get  you  a  nicer  one.  That  one  isn't  good 
enough  for  you." 

Here  was  an  argument  that  Kathleen  could  appre- 
ciate. "Oh,  how  sweet  of  you,  Harry,"  she  gurgled, 
and  had  the  bracelet  down  to  her  knuckles,  when 
a  sudden  instinct  checked  her:  "When  you  bring 
the  other,  you  can  have  this." 

She  pushed  the  circlet  back,  and  Mallory's  hopes 
sank  at  the  gesture.  He  grew  frantic  at  being  eter- 
nally frustrated  in  his  plans.  He  caught  Kathleen's 
arm  and,  while  his  words  pleaded,  his  hands  tugged: 
"Please — please  let  me  take  it — for  the  measure 
— you  know!" 

Kathleen  read  the  determination  in  his  fierce  eyes, 
and  she  struggled  furiously:  "Why,  Richard — 
Chauncey! — er — Billy!  I'm  amazed  at  you!  Let 
go  or  I'll  scream!" 

She  rose  and,  twisting  her  arm  from  his  grasp, 


"v.HV,    RICHARD — CHAUNCEY  ! — ER — BILLY  !      I'M    AMAZED    AT    YOU1. 
LET   GO,   OR    I'LL    SCREAM  !" 


A  DUEL  FOR  A  BRACELET  277 

confronted  him  with  bewildered  anger.  Mallory 
cast  toward  Marjorie  a  look  of  surrender  and  de- 
spair. Marjorie  laid  her  hand  on  her  throat  and  in 
pantomime  suggested  that  Mallory  should  throttle 
Kathleen,  as  he  had  promised. 

But  Mallory  was  incapable  of  further  violence; 
and  when  Kathleen,  with  all  her  coquetry,  bent  down 
and  murmured:  "You  are  a  very  naughty  boy,  but 
come  to  breakfast  and  we'll  talk  it  over,"  he  was  so 
addled  that  he  answered:  "Thanks,  but  I  never  eat 
breakfast." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

DOWN  BRAKES  ! 

JUST  as  Kathleen  flung  her  head  in  baffled  vexa- 
tion, and  Mallory  started  to  slink  back  to  Marjorie, 
with  another  defeat,  there  came  an  abrupt  shock  as 
if  that  gigantic  child  to  whom  our  railroad  trains  are 
toys,  had  reached  down  and  laid  violent  hold  on  the 
Trans- American  in  full  career. 

Its  smooth,  swift  flight  became  suddenly  such  a 
spasm  of  jars,  shivers  and  thuds  that  Mallory  cried: 

"We're  off  the  track." 

He  was  sent  flopping  down  the  aisle  like  a  bolster 
hurled  through  the  car.  He  brought  up  with  a  sick- 
ening slam  across  the  seat  into  which  Marjorie  had 
been  jounced  back  with  a  breath-taking  slam.  And 
then  Kathleen  came  flying  backwards  and  landed  in 
a  heap  on  both  of  them. 

Several  of  the  other  passengers  were  just  re- 
turning from  breakfast  and  they  were  shot  and  scat- 
tered all  over  the  car  as  if  a  great  chain  of  human 
beads  had  burst. 

Women  screamed,  men  yelled,  and  then  while 
they  were  still  struggling  against  the  seats  and  one 
another,  the  train  came  to  a  halt. 

"Thank  God,  we  stopped  in  time!"  Mallory 
278 


DOWN  BRAKES!  279 

gasped,  as  he  tried  to  disengage  himself  and  Mar- 
jorie  from   Kathleen. 

The  passengers  began  to  regain  their  courage 
with  their  equilibrium.  Little  Jimmie  Wellington 
had  flown  the  whole  length  of  the  car,  clinging  to 
his  wife  as  if  she  were  Francesca  da  Rimini,  and  he 
Paolo,  flitting  through  Inferno.  The  flight  ended 
at  the  stateroom  door  with  such  a  thump  that  Mrs. 
Fosdick  was  sure  a  detective  had  come  for  her  at 
last,  and  with  a  battering  ram. 

But  when  Jimmie  got  back  breath  enough  to  talk, 
he  remembered  the  train-stopping  excitement  of  the 
day  before  and  called  out: 

"Has  Mrs.  Mallory  lost  that  pup  again?" 

Everybody  laughed  uproariously  at  this.  People 
will  laugh  at  anything  or  nothing  when  they  have 
been  frightened  almost  to  death  and  suddenly  re- 
lieved of  anxiety. 

Everybody  was  cracking  a  joke  at  Marjorie's  ex- 
pense. Everybody  felt  a  good-natured  grudge 
against  her  for  being  such  a  mystery.  The  car  was 
ringing  with  hilarity,  when  the  porter  came  stumbling 
in  and  paused  at  the  door,  with  eyes  all  white,  hands 
waving  frantically,  and  lips  flapping  like  flannel,  in 
a  vain  effort  to  speak. 

The  passengers  stopped  laughing  at  Marjorie,  to 
laugh  at  the  porter.  Ashton  sang  out: 

"What's  the  matter  with  you,  Porter?  Are  you 
trying  to  crow?" 


280  EXCUSE  ME! 

Everybody  roared  at  this,  till  the  porter  finally 
managed  to  articulate: 

"T-t-t-train  rob-rob-robbers !" 

Silence  shut  down  as  if  the  whole  crowd  had  been 
smitten  with  paralysis.'  From  somewhere  outside 
and  ahead  came  a  pop-popping  as  of  firecrackers. 
Everybody  thought,  "Revolvers!"  The  reports 
were  mingled  with  barbaric  yells  that  turned  the 
marrow  in  every  bone  to  snow. 

These  regions  are  full  of  historic  terror.  All 
along  the  Nevada  route  the  conductor,  the  brakemen 
and  old  travelers  had  pointed  out  scene  after  scene 
where  the  Indians  had  slaked  the  thirst  of  the  arid 
land  with  white  man's  blood.  Ashton,  who  had  trav- 
eled this  way  many  times,  had  made  himself  fasci- 
natingly horrifying  the  evening  before  and  ruined 
several  breakfasts  that  morning  in  the  dining-car, 
by  regaling  the  passengers  with  stories  of  pioneer 
ordeals,  men  and  women  massacred  in  burning  wag- 
ons, or  dragged  away  to  fiendish  cruelty  and  obscene 
torture,  staked  out  supine  on  burning  wastes  with 
eyelids  cut  off,  bound  down  within  reach  of  rattle- 
snakes, subjected  to  every  misery  that  human  deviltry 
could  devise. 

Ashton  had  brought  his  fellow  passengers  to  a 
state  of  ecstatic  excitability,  and,  like  many  a  re- 
counter  of  burglar  stories  at  night,  had  tuned  his 
own  nerves  to  high  tension. 

The   violent   stopping   of   the   train,    the   heart- 


DOWN  BRAKES!  281 

shaking  yells  and  shots  outside,  found  the  passengers 
already  apt  to  respond  without  delay  to  the  appeals 
of  fright.  After  the  first  hush  of  dread,  came  the 
reaction  to  panic. 

Each  passenger  showed  his  own  panic  in  his  own 
way.  Ashton  whirled  round  and  round,  like  a  horse 
with  the  blind  staggers,  then  bolted  down  the  aisle, 
knocking  aside  men  and  women.  He  climbed  on  a 
seat,  pulled  down  an  upper  berth,  and,  scrambling  into 
it,  tried  to  shut  it  on  himself.  Mrs.  Whitcomb  was 
so  frightened  that  she  assailed  Ashton  with  fury  and 
seizing  his  feet,  dragged  him  back  into  the  aisle,  and 
beat  him  with  her  fists,  demanding  that  he  protect 
her  and  save  her  for  Sammy's  sake. 

Mrs.  Fosdick,  rushing  out  of  her  stateroom  and 
not  finding  her  luscious-eyed  husband,  laid  hold  of 
Jimmie  Wellington  and  ordered  him  to  go  to  the 
rescue  of  her  spouse.  Mrs.  Wellington  tore  her 
hands  loose,  crying:  "Let  him  go,  madam.  He 
has  a  wife  of  his  own  to  defend." 

Jimmie  was  trying  to  pour  out  dying  messages, 
and  only  sputtering,  forgetting  that  he  had  put  his 
watch  in  his  mouth  to  hide  it,  though  its  chain  was 
still  attached  to  his  waistcoat. 

Anne  Cattle,  who  had  read  much  about  Chinese 
atrocities  to  missionaries,  gave  herself  up  to  death, 
yet  rejoiced  greatly  that  she  had  provided  a  timely 
man  to  lean  on  and  should  not  have  to  enter  Paradise 
a  spinster,  providing  she  could  manage  to  convert 


282  EXCUSE  ME! 

Ira  in  the  next  few  seconds,  before  it  was  everlast- 
ingly too  late.  She  was  begging  her  first  heathen  to 
join  her  in  a  gospel  hymn.  But  Ira  was  roaring 
curses  like  a  pirate  captain  in  a  hurricane,  and  swear- 
ing that  the  villains  should  not  rob  him  of  his  bride. 

Mrs.  Temple  wrung  her  twitching  hands  and  tried 
to  drag  her  husband  to  his  knees,  crying: 

"Oh,  Walter,  Walter,  won't  you  please  say  a 
prayer? — a  good  strong  prayer?" 

But  the  preacher  was  so  confused  that  he  an- 
swered: "What's  the  use  of  prayer  in  an  emergency 
like  this?" 

"Walter!"  she  shrieked. 

"I'm  on  my  va-vacation,  you  know,"  he  stam- 
mered. 

Marjorie  was  trying  at  the  same  time  to  compel 
Maflory  to  crawl  under  a  seat  and  to  find  a  place 
to  hide  Snoozleums,  whom  she  was  warning  not  to 
say  a  word.  Snoozleums,  understanding  only  that 
his  mistress  was  in  some  distress,  refused  to  stay  in 
his  basket  and  kept  offering  his  services  and  his 
attentions. 

Suddenly  Marjorie  realized  that  Kathleen  was 
trying  to  faint  in  Mallory's  arms,  and  forgot  every- 
thing else  in  a  determined  effort  to  prevent  her. 

After  the  first  blood-sweat  of  abject  fright  had 
begun  to  cool,  the  passengers  came  to  realize  that 
the  invaders  were  not  after  lives,  but  loot.  Then 
came  a  panic  of  miserly  effort  to  conceal  treasure. 


DOWN  BRAKES!  283 

Kathleen,  finding  herself  banished  from  Mallory's 
protection,  ran  to  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  who  had  given 
Ashton  up  as  a  hopeless  task. 

"What  shall  we  do,  oh,  what,  oh  what  shall  we 
do,  dear  Mrs.  Wellington?"  she  cried. 

"Don't  you  dare  call  me  Mrs.  Wellington!"  Mrs. 
Whitcomb  screamed;  then  she  began  to  flutter.  "But 
we'd  better  hide  what  we  can.  I  hope  the  rah-rah- 
robbers  are  ge-gentlemen-men." 

She  pushed  a  diamond  locket  containing  a  small 
portrait  of  Sammy  into  her  back  hair,  leaving  part 
of  the  chain  dangling.  Then  she  tried  to  stuff  a 
large  handbag  into  her  stocking. 

Mrs.  Fosdick  found  her  husband  at  last,  for  he 
made  a  wild  dash  to  her  side,  embraced  her,  called 
her  his  wife  and  defied  all  the  powers  of  Nevada 
to  tear  them  apart.  He  had  a  brilliant  idea.  In 
order  to  save  his  fat  wallet  from  capture,  he  tossed 
it  through  an  open  window.  It  fell  at  the  feet  of  one 
of  the  robbers  as  he  ran  along  the  side  of  the  car, 
shooting  at  such  heads  as  were  put  out  of  windows. 
He  picked  it  up  and  dropped  it  into  the  feed-bag 
he  had  swung  at  his  side.  Then  running  on,  he 
clambered  over  the  brass  rail  of  th*  observation 
platform  and  entered  the  rear  of  the  train,  as  his 
confederate,  driving  the  conductor  ahead  of  him, 
forged  his  way  aft  from  the  front,  while  a  third 
masquerader  aligned  the  engineer,  the  fireman,  tbft 
brakeman  and  the  baggagemen. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

HANDS  UP! 

ALL  this  time  Lieutenant  Mallory  had  been  think- 
ing as  hard  as  an  officer  in  an  ambuscade.  His 
harrowing  experiences  and  incessant  defeats  of  the 
past  days  had  unnerved  him  and  shattered  his  self- 
confidence.  He  was  not  afraid,  but  intensely  dis- 
gusted. He  sat  absent-mindedly  patting  Marjorie  on 
the  back  and  repeating: 

"Don't  worry,  honey,  they're  not  going  to  hurt 
anybody.  They  don't  want  anything  but  our  money. 
Don't  worry,  I  won't  let  'em  hurt  you." 

But  he  could  not  shake  off  a  sense  of  nausea.  He 
felt  himself  a  representative  of  the  military  prowess 
of  the  country,  and  here  he  was  as  helpless  as  a 
man  on  parole. 

The  fact  that  Mallory  was  a  soldier  occurred  to 
a  number  of  the  passengers  simultaneously.  They 
had  been  trained  by  early  studies  in  those  beautiful 
works  of  fiction,  the  school  histories  of  the  United 
States,  and  by  many  Fourths  of  July,  to  believe  that 
the  American  soldier  is  an  invincible  being,  who  has 
never  been  defeated  and  never  known  fear. 

They  surged  up  to  Mallory  in  a  wave  of  hope. 
Dr.  Temple,  being  nearest,  spoke  first.  Having 

284 


HANDS  UP!  285 

learned  by  experience  that  his  own  prayers  were  not 
always  answered  as  he  wished,  had  an  impulse  to 
try  some  weapon  he  had  never  used. 

"Young  man,"  he  pleaded  across  the  back  of  a 
seat,  "will  you  kindly  lend  me  a  gun?" 

Mallory  answered  sullenly:  "Mine  is  in  my  trunk 
on  the  train  ahead,  damn  it.  If  I  had  it  I'd  have 
a  lot  of  fun." 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  had  an  inspiration.  She  ran  to 
her  berth,  and  came  back  with  a  tiny  silver-plated 
revolver. 

"I'll  lend  you  this.  Sammy  gave  it  to  me  to  pro- 
tect myself  in  Nevada !" 

Mallory  smiled  at  the  .22-calibre  toy,  broke  it 
open,  and  displayed  an  empty  cylinder. 

"Where  are  the  pills  that  go  with  it?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  Sammy  wouldn't  let  me  have  any  bullets. 
He  was  afraid  I'd  hurt  myself." 

Mallory  returned  it,  with  a  bow.  "It  would  make 
an  excellent  nut-cracker." 

"Aren't  you  going  to  use  it?"  Mrs.  Whitcomb 
gasped. 

"It's  empty,"  Mallory  explained. 

"But  the  robbers  don't  know  that!  Couldn't  you 
just  overawe  them  with  it?" 

"Not  with  that,"  said  Mallory,  "unless  they  died 
laughing." 

Mrs.  Wellington  pushed  forward:  "Then  what 
the  devil  are  you  going  to  do  when  they  come?" 


286  EXCUSE  ME! 

Mallory  answered  meekly:  "If  they  request  it,  I 
shall  hold  up  my  hands." 

"And  you  won't  resist?"  Kathleen  gasped. 

"Not  a  resist." 

"And  he  calls  himself  a  soldier!"  she  sneered. 

Mallory  writhed,  but  all  he  said  was :  "A  soldier 
doesn't  have  to  be  a  jackass.  I  know  just  enough 
about  guns  not  to  monkey  with  the  wrong  end  of 
'em." 

"Coward!"  she  flung  at  him.  He  turned  white, 
but  Marjorie  red,  and  made  a  leap  at  her,  crying: 
"He's  the  bravest  man  in  the  world.  You  say  a 
word,  and  I'll  scratch  your  eyes  out." 

This  reheartened  Mallory  a  little,  and  he  laughed 
nervously,  as  he  restrained  her.  Kathleen  retreated 
out  of  danger,  with  a  parting  shot:  "Our  engage- 
ment is  off." 

"Thanks,"  Mallory  said,  and  put  out  his  hand: 
"Will  you  return  the  bracelet?" 

"I  never  return  such  things,"  said  Kathleen. 

The  scene  was  so  painful  and  such  an  anachronism 
that  Dr.  Temple  tried  to  renew  a  more  pressing  sub- 
ject: "It's  your  opinion  then  that  we'd  best  surren- 
der?" 

"Of  course — since  we  can't  run." 

Wedgewood  broke  in  impatiently:  "Well,  I  con- 
sider it  a  dastardly  outrage.  I'll  not  submit  to  it. 
I'm  a  subject  of  His  Majesty  the " 


HANDS  UP!  287 

"You're  a  subject  of  His  Majesty  the  Man  Behind 
the  Gun,"  said  Mallory. 

"I  shall  protest,  none  the  less,"  Wedgewood  in- 
sisted. 

Mallory  grinned  a  little.  "Have  you  any  last 
message  to  send  home  to  your  mother?" 

Wedgewood  was  a  trifle  chilled  at  this.  "D-don't 
talk  of  such  things,"  he  said. 

And  by  this  time  the  train-robbers  had  hastily 
worked  their  way  through  the  other  passengers,  and 
reached  the  frantic  inhabitants  of  the  sleeper,  "Snow- 
drop." 

"Hands  up!    Higher!!    Hands  up!" 

With  a  true  sense  of  the  dramatic,  the  robbers 
sent  ahead  of  them  the  most  hair-raising  yells.  They 
arrived  simultaneously  at  each  end  of  the  aisle,  and 
with  a  few  short  sharp  commands,  straightened  the 
disorderly  rabble  into  a  beautiful  line,  with  all 
.palms  aloft  and  all  eyes  wide  and  wild. 

One  robber  drove  ahead  of  him  the  conductor  and 
the  other  drove  in  Mr.  Manning,  whom  he  had 
found  trying  to  crawl  between  the  shelves  of  the 
linen-closet. 

The  marauders  were  apparently  cattlemen,  from 
their  general  get-up.  Their  hats  were  pulled  low, 
and  just  beneath  their  eyes  they  had  drawn  big  black 
silk  handkerchiefs,  tied  behind  the  ears  and  hanging 
to  the  breast. 

Over  their  shoulders  they  had  slung  the  feed- 


288  EXCUSE  ME! 

bags  of  their  horses,  to  serve  a-s  receptacles  for 
their  swag.  Their  shirts  were  chalky  with  alkali 
dust.  Their  legs  were  encased  in  heavy  chaparejos, 
and  they  carried  each  a  pair  of  well-used  Colt's  re- 
volvers that  looked  as  big  as  artillery. 

When  the  passengers  had  shoved  and  jostled  into 
line,  one  of  the  men  jabbed  the  conductor  in  the 
back  with  the  muzzle  of  his  gun,  and  snarled: 
"Now  speak  your  little  piece,  like  I  learned  it  to 
you." 

The  conductor,  like  an  awkward  schoolboy, 
grinned  sheepishly,  and  spoke,  his  hands  in  the  air 
the  while : 

"Ladies  and  Gents,  these  here  parties  in  the  black 
tidies  says  they  want  everybody  to  hold  his  or  her 
hands  as  high  as  possible  till  you  git  permission  to 
lower  'em;  they  advise  you  not  to  resist,  because 
they  hate  the  sight  of  blood,  but  prefer  it  to  argu- 
ment." 

The  impatient  robbers,  themselves  the  prey  of  fear- 
ful anxieties,  broke  in,  barking  like  a  pair  of  coyotes 
in  a  jumble  of  commands:  "Now,  line  up  with  your 
backs  that  way,  and  no  back  talk.  These  guns 
shoot  awful  easy.  And  remember,  as  each  party 
is  finished  with,  they  are  to  turn  round  and  keep  their 
hands  up,  on  penalty  of  gittin'  'em  shot  off.  Line 
up!  Hands  up!  Give  over  there!" 

Mrs.  Jimmie  Wellington  took  her  time  about  mov- 
ing into  position,  and  her  deliberation  brought  a 


HANDS  UP!  289 

howl  of  wrath  from  the  robber:  "Get  into  that  line, 
you!" 

Mrs.  Wellington  whirled  on  him :  "How  dare  you, 
you  brute?"  And  she  turned  up  her  nose  at  the 
gun. 

The  anxious  conductor  intervened:  "Better  obey, 
madame;  he's  an  ugly  lad." 

"I  don't  mind  being  robbed,"  said  Mrs.  Jimmie, 
"but  I  won't  endure  rudeness." 

The  robber  shook  his  head  in  despair,  and  he  tried 
to  wither  her  with  sarcasm:  "Pardong,  mamselly, 
would  you  be  so  kind  and  condescendin'  as  to  step 
into  that  there  car  before  I  blow  your  husband's  gol- 
blame  head  off." 

This  brought  her  to  terms.  She  hastened  to  her 
place,  but  put  out  a  restraining  hand  on  Jimmie,  who 
needed  no  restraint.  "Certainly,  to  save  my  dear 
husband.  Don't  strike  him,  Jimmie  I" 

Then  each  man  stuck  one  revolver  into  its  con- 
venient holster,  and,  covering  the  passengers  with  the 
other,  proceeded  to  frisk  away  valuables  with  a 
speed  and  agility  that  would  have  looked  prettier  if 
those  impatient-looking  muzzles  had  not  pointed 
here,  there  and  everywhere  with  such  venomous 
threats. 

And  so  they  worked  from  each  end  of  the  car  to- 
ward the  middle.  Their  hands  ran  swiftly  over 
bodies  with  a  loathsome  familiarity  that  could  only 
be  resented,  not  revenged.  Their  hands  dived  into 


290  EXCUSE  ME! 

pockets,  and  up  sleeves,  and  into  women's  hair, 
everywhere  that  a  jewel  or  a  bill  might  be  secreted. 
And  always  a  rough  growl  or  a  swing  of  the  revolver 
silenced  any  protest. 

Their  heinous  fingers  had  hardly  begun  to  ply, 
when  the  solemn  stillness  was  broken  by  a  chuckle 
and  low  hoot  of  laughter,  a  darkey's  unctuous  laugh- 
ter. At  such  a  place  it  was  more  shocking  than  at 
a  funeral. 

"What  ails  you?"  was  the  nearest  robber's 
demand. 

The  porter  tried  to  wipe  his  streaming  eyes  with- 
out lowering  his  hands,  as  he  chuckled  on:  "I — I — 
just  thought  of  sumpum  funny." 

"Funny!"  was  the  universal  groan. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  the  porter  snickered,  "what 
mighty  poor  pickings  you-all  are  goin'  to  git  out  of 
me.  Whilst  if  you  had  'a'  waited  till  I  got  to  'Frisco, 
I'd  jest  nachelly  been  oozin'  money." 

The  robber  relieved  him  of  a  few  dimes  and  quar- 
ters and  ordered  him  to  turn  round,  but  the  black 
face  whirled  back  as  he  heard  from  the  other  end 
of  the  car  Wedgewood's  indignant  complaint:  "I 
say,  this  is  an  outrage!" 

"Ah,  close  your  trap  and  turn  round,  or  I'll " 

The  porter's  smile  died  away.  "Good  Lawd,"  he 
sighed,  "they're  goin'  to  skin  that  British  lion !  And 
I  just  wore  myself  out  on  him." 

The  far-reaching  effect  of  the  whole  procedure 


HANDS  UP!  291 

was  just  beginning  to  dawn  on  the  porter.  This  lit- 
tle run  on  the  bank  meant  a  period  of  financial 
stringency  for  him.  He  watched  the  hurrying  hands 
a  moment  or  two,  then  his  wrath  rose  to  terrible 
proportions : 

"Look  here,  man,"  he  shouted  at  the  robber, 
"ain't  you-all  goin'  to  leave  these  here  passengers 
nothin'  a  tall?" 

"Not  on  purpose,  nigger." 

"No  small  change,  or  nothin'?" 

"Nary  a  red." 

"Then,  passengers,"  the  porter  proclaimed,  while 
the  robber  watched  him  in  amazement;  "then,  pas- 
sengers, I  want  to  give  you-all  fair  warnin'  heah  and 
now :  No  tips,  no  whisk-broom !" 

Perhaps  because  their  hearts  were  already  over- 
flowing with  distress,  the  passengers  endured  this  ap- 
palling threat  wthout  comment,  and  when  there  was 
a  commotion  at  the  other  end  of  the  line,  all  eyes 
rolled  that  way. 

Mr.  Baumann  was  making  an  effort  to  take  his 
leave,  with  great  politeness. 

"Excoose,  pleass.    I  vant  to  get  by,  pleass !" 

"Get  by!"  the  other  robber  gasped.  "Why, 
you " 

"But  I'm  not  a  passenger,"  Mr.  Baumann  urged, 
with  a  confidential  smile,  "I've  been  going  through 
the  train  myself." 

"Much  obliged !    Hand  over !"    And  a  rude  hand 


292  EXCUSE  ME! 

rummaged  his  pockets.    It  was  a  heart-rending  sight. 

"Oi  oi!"  he  wailed,  "don't  you  allow  no  courte- 
sies to  the  profession?"  And  when  the  inexorable 
thief  continued  to  pluck  his  money,  his  watch,  his 
scarf-pin,  he  grew  wroth  indeed.  "Stop,  stop,  I 
refuse  to  pay.  I'll  go  into  benkruptcy  foist."  But 
still  the  larceny  continued;  fingers  even  lifted  three 
cigars  from  his  pockets,  two  for  himself  and  a  good 
one  for  a  customer.  This  loss  was  grievous,  but  his 
wildest  protest  was:  "Oh,  here,  my  frient,  you  don't 
vant  my  business  carts." 

"Keep  'em !"  growled  the  thief,  and  then,  glancing 
up,  he  saw  on  the  tender  inwards  of  Mr.  Baumann's 
upheld  palms  two  huge  glisteners,  which  their  owner 
had  turned  that  way  in  a  misguided  effort  to  conceal 
the  stones.  The  robber  reached  up  for  them. 

"Take  'em.  You're  velcome  !"  said  Mr.  Baumannv 
with  rare  presence  of  mind.  "Those  Nevada  near- 
lies  looks  almost  like  real." 

"Keep  'em,"  said  the  robber,  as  he  passed  on,  and 
Mr.  Baumann  almost  swooned  with  joy,  for,  as  he 
whispered  to  Wedgewood  a  moment  later:  "They're 
really  real!" 

Now  the  eye-chain  rolled  the  other  way,  for  Little 
Jimmie  Wellington  was  puffing  with  rage.  The 
other  robber,  having  massaged  him  thoroughly,  but 
without  success,  for  his  pocketbook,  noticed  that  Jim- 
mie's  left  heel  was  protruding  from  his  left  shoe, 
and  made  Jimmie  perform  the  almost  incredible  feat 


HANDS  UP!  293 

of  standing  on  one  foot,  while  he  unshod  him  and 
took  out  the  hidden  wealth. 

"There  goes  our  honeymoon,  Lucretia,"  he 
moaned.  But  she  whispered  proudly:  "Never  mind, 
I  have  my  rings  to  pawn." 

"Oh,  you  have,  have  you?  Well,  I'll  be  your  lit- 
tle uncle,"  the  kneeling  robber  laughed,  as  he  over- 
heard, and  he  continued  his  outrageous  search  till 
he  found  them,  knotted  in  a  handkerchief,  under  her 
hat. 

She  protested:  "You  wouldn't  leave  me  in  Reno 
without  a  diamond,  would  you?" 

"I  wouldn't,  eh?"  he  grunted.  "Do  you  think  I'm 
in  this  business  for  my  health?" 

And  he  snatched  off  two  earrings  she  had  forgot- 
ten to  remove.  Fortunately,  they  were  affixed  to  her 
lobes  with  fasteners. 

Mrs.  Jimmie  was  thoroughbred  enough  not  to 
wince.  She  simply  commented :  "You  brutes  are  al- 
most as  bad  as  the  Customs  officers  at  New  York." 

And  now  another  touch  of  light  relieved  the 
gloom.  Kathleen  was  next  in  line,  and  she  had  been 
forcing  her  lips  into  their  most  attractive  smile,  and 
keeping  her  eyes  winsomely  mellow,  for  the  robber's 
benefit.  Marjorie  could  not  see  the  smile;  she  could 
only  see  that  Kathleen  was  next.  She  whispered  to 
Mallory : 

"They'll  get  the  bracelet!  They'll  get  the  brace- 
let!" 


294  EXCUSE  ME! 

And  Mallory  could  have  danced  with  glee.  But 
Kathleen  leaned  coquettishly  toward  the  masked 
stranger,  and  threw  all  her  art  into  her  tone  as  she 
murmured : 

"I'm  sure  you're  too  brave  to  take  my  things. 
I've  always  admired  men  with  the  courage  of  Claude 
Duval." 

The  robber  was  taken  a  trifle  aback,  but  he 
growled:  "I  don't  know  the  party  you  speak  of — but 
cough  up!" 

"Listen  to  her,"  Marjorie  whispered  in  horror; 
"she's  flirting  with  the  train-robber." 

"What  won't  some  women  flirt  with!"  Mallory 
exclaimed. 

The  robber  studied  Kathleen  a  little  more  atten- 
tively, as  he  whipped  off  her  necklace  and  her  rings. 
She  looked  good  to  him,  and  so  willing,  that  he  mut- 
tered: "Say,  lady,  if  you'll  give  me  a  kiss,  I'll  give 
you  that  diamond  ring  you  got  on." 

"All  right!"  laughed  Kathleen,  with  triumphant 
compliance. 

"My  God!"  Mallory  groaned,  "what  won't  some 
women  do  for  a  diamond!" 

The  robber  bent  close,  and  was  just  raising  his 
mask  to  collect  his  ransom,  when  his  confederate 
glanced  his  way,  and  knowing  his  suceptible  nature, 
foresaw  his  intention,  and  shouted:  "Stop  it,  Jake. 
You  'tend  strictly  to  business,  or  I'll  blow  your  nose 
off." 


HANDS  UP!  295 

"Oh,  all  right,"  grumbled  the  reluctant  gallant,  as 
he  drew  the  ring  from  her  finger.  "Sorry,  miss,  but 
I  can't  make  the  trade,"  and  he  added  with  an  un- 
wonted gentleness:  "You  can  turn  round  now." 

Kathleen  was  glad  to  hide  the  blushes  of  defeat, 
but  Marjorie  was  still  more  bitterly  disappointed. 
She  whispered  to  Mallory :  "He  didn't  get  the  brace- 
let, after  all." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

WOLVES  IN  THE  FOLD 

MALLORY'S  heart  sank  to  its  usual  depth,  but  Mar- 
jorie  had  another  of  her  inspirations.  She  startled 
everybody  by  suddenly  beckoning  and  calling:  "Ex- 
cuse me,  Mr.  Robber.  Come  here,  please." 

The  curious  gallant  edged  her  way,  keeping  a 
sharp  watch  along  the  line:  "What  d'you  want?'* 

Marjorie  leaned  nearer,  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone 
with  an  amiable  smile:  "That  lady  who  wanted  to 
kiss  you  has  a  bracelet  up  her  sleeve." 

The  robber  stared  across  his  mask,  and  won- 
dered, but  laughed,  and  grunted:  "Much  obliged." 
Then  he  went  back,  and  tapped  Kathleen  on  the 
shoulder.  When  she  turned  round,  in  the  hope  that 
he  had  reconsidered  his  refusal  to  make  the  trade, 
he  infuriated  her  by  growling:  "Excuse,  me,  miss, 
I  overlooked  a  bet." 

He  ran  his  hand  along  her  arm,  and  found  her 
bracelet,  and  accomplished  what  Mallory  had 
failed  in,  its  removal. 

"Don't,  don't,"  cried  Kathleen,  "it's  wished  on." 

"I  wish  it  off,"  the  villain  laughed,  and  it  joined 
the  growing  heap  in  the  feed-bag. 

296 


WOLVES  IN  THE  FOLD  29? 

Kathleen,  doubly  enraged,  broke  out  viciously: 
"You're  a  common,  sneaking " 

"Ah,  turn  round!"  the  man  roared,  and  she  obeyed 
in  silence. 

Then  he  explored  Mrs.  Whitcomb,  but  with  such 
small  reward  that  he  said:  "Say,  you'd  oughter  have 
a  pocketbook  somewheres.  Where's  it  at?" 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  blushed  furiously:  "None  of  your 
business,  you  low  brute." 

"Perdooce,  madame,"  the  scoundrel  snorted,  "per- 
dooce  the  purse,  or  I'll  hunt  for  it  myself." 

Mrs.  Whitcomb  turned  away,  and  after  some 
management  of  her  skirts,  slapped  her  handbag  into 
the  eager  palm  with  a  wrathful:  "You're  no  gentle- 
man, sir!" 

"If  I  was,  I'd  be  in  Wall  Street,"  he  laughed. 
"Now  you  can  turn  round."  And  when  she  turned, 
he  saw  a  bit  of  chain  depending  from  her  back  hair. 
He  tugged,  and  brought  away  the  locket,  and  with 
laying  the  tress  on  her  shoulder,  and  proceeded  to 
sound  Ashton  for  hidden  wealth. 

And  now  Mrs.  Temple  began  to  sob,  as  she  parted 
with  an  old-fashioned  brooch  and  two  old-fashioned 
rings  that  had  been  her  little  vanities  for  the  quarter 
of  a  century  and  more.  The  old  clergyman  could 
have  wept  with  her  at  the  vandalism.  He  turned  on 
the  wretch  with  a  heartsick  appeal: 

"Can't  you  spare  those?  Didn't  you  ever  have  a 
mother?" 


298  EXCUSE  ME! 

The  robber  started,  his  fierce  eyes  softened,  his 
voice  choked,  and  he  gulped  hard  as  he  drew  the 
back  of  his  hand  across  his  eyes. 

"Aw,  hell,"  he  whimpered,  "that  ain't  fair.  If 
you're  goin'  to  remind  me  of  me  poor  old  mo-mo- 
mother " 

But  the  one  called  Jake — the  Claude  Duval  who 
had  been  prevented  from  a  display  of  human  senti- 
ment, did  not  intend  to  be  cheated.  He  thundered : 
"Stop  it,  Bill.  You  'tend  strictly  to  business,  or  I'll 
blow  your  mush-bowl  off.  You  know  your  Maw 
died  before  you  was  born." 

This  reminder  sobered  the  weeping  thief  at  once, 
and  he  went  back  to  work  ruthlessly.  "Oh,  all  right, 
Jake.  Sorry,  ma'am,  but  business  is  business."  And 
he  dumped  Mrs.  Temple's  trinkets  into  the  satchel. 
It  was  too  much  for  the  little  old  lady's  little  old 
husband.  He  fairly  shrieked: 

"Young  man,  you're  a  damned  scoundrel,  and  the 
best  argument  I  ever  saw  for  hell-fire!" 

Mrs.  Temple's  grief  changed  to  horror  at  such  a 
bolt  from  the  blue:  "Walter!"  she  gasped,  "such 
language!" 

But  her  husband  answered  in  self-defence :  "Even 
a  minister  has  a  right  to  swear  once  in  his  lifetime." 

Mallory  almost  dropped  in  his  tracks,  and  Mar- 
jorie  keeled  over  on  him,  as  he  gasped :  "Good  Lord, 
Doctor  Temple,  you  are  a — a  minister?" 

"Yes,  my  boy,"  the  old  man  confessed,  glad  that 


WOLVES  IN  THE  FOLD  299 

the  robbers  had  relieved  him  of  his  guilty  secret 
along  with  the  rest  of  his  private  properties.  Mai- 
lory  looked  at  the  collapsing  Marjorie,  and  groaned: 
"And  he  was  in  the  next  berth  all  this  time !" 

The  unmasking  of  the  old  fraud  made  a  second 
sensation.  Mrs.  Fosdick  called  from  far  down  the 
aisle:  "Dr.  Temple,  you're  not  a  detective?" 

Mrs.  Temple  shouted  back  furiously:  "How  dare 
you?" 

But  Mrs.  Fosdick  was  crying  to  her  luscious-eyed 
mate:  "Oh,  Arthur,  he's  not  a  detective.  Embrace 
me!" 

And  they  embraced,  while  the  robbers  looked  on 
aghast  at  the  sudden  oblivion  they  had  fallen  into. 
They  focussed  the  attention  on  themselves  again, 
however,  with  a  ferocious:  "Here,  hands  up!"  But 
they  did  not  see  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Fosdick  steal  a  kiss 
behind  their  upraised  arms,  for  the  robber  to  whose 
lot  Mallory  fell  was  gloating  over  his  well-filled 
wallet.  Mallory  saw  it  go  with  fortitude,  but  noting 
a  piece  of  legal  paper,  he  said:  "Say,  old  man,  you 
don't  want  that  marriage  license,  do  you?" 

The  robber  handled  it  as  if  it  were  hot — as  if  he 
had  burned  his  fingers  on  some  such  document  once 
before,  and  he  stuffed  it  back  in  Mallory's  pocket. 
"I  should  say  not.  Keep  it.  Turn  round." 

Meanwhile  the  other  felon  turned  up  another 
beautiful  pile  of  bills  in  Dr.  Temple's  pocket.  "Not 


300  EXCUSE  ME! 

so  worse  for  a  parson,"  he  grinned.  "You  must  be 
one  of  them  Fifth  Avenue  sky-shaffures." 

And  now  Mrs.  Temple's  gentle  eyes  and  voice 
filled  with  tears  again :  "Oh,  don't  take  that.  That's 
the  money  for  his  vacation — after  thirty  long  years. 
Please  don't  take  that." 

Her  appeals  seemed  always  to  find  the  tender 
spot  of  this  robber's  heart,  for  he  hesitated,  and 
called  out:  "Shall  we  overlook  the  parson's  wad, 
podner?" 

"Take  it,  and  shut  up,  you  mollycoddle!"  was  the 
answer  he  got,  and  the  vacation  funds  joined  the  old 
gewgaws. 

And  now  everybody  had  been  robbed  but  Marjorie. 
She  happened  to  be  at  the  center  of  the  line,  and 
both  men  reached  her  at  the  same  time:  "I  seen 
her  first,"  the  first  one  shouted. 

"You  did  not,"  the  other  roared. 

"I  tell  you  I  did." 

"I  tell  you  I  did."  They  glared  threateningly 
at  each  other,  and  their  revolvers  seemed  to  meet, 
like  two  game  cocks,  beak  to  beak. 

The  porter  voiced  the  general  hope,  when  he 
sighed:  "Oh,  Lawd,  if  they'd  only  shoot  each  other." 

This  brought  the  rivals  to  their  evil  senses,  and 
they  swept  the  line  with  those  terrifying  muzzles  and 
that  heart-stopping  yelp :  "Hands  up !" 

Bill  said:  "You  take  the  east  side  of  her,  and  I'll 
take  the  west." 


WOLVES  IN  THE  FOLD  301 

"All  right." 

And  they  began  to  snatch  away  her  side-combs,  the 
little  gold  chain  at  her  throat,  the  jewelled  pin  that 
Mallory  had  given  her  as  the  first  token  of  his  love. 

The  young  soldier  had  foreseen  this.  He  had 
foreseen  the  wild  rage  that  would  unseat  his  reason 
when  he  saw  the  dirty  hands  of  thieves  laid  rudely 
on  the  sacred  body  of  his  beloved.  But  his  soldier- 
schooling  had  drilled  him  to  govern  his  impulses,  to 
play  the  coward  when  there  was  no  hope  of  success- 
ful battle,  and  to  strike  only  when  the  moment  was 
ripe  with  perfect  opportunity. 

He  had  kept  telling  himself  that  when  the  finger 
of  one  of  these  men  touched  so  much  as  Marjorie's 
hem,  he  would  be  forced  to  fling  himself  on  the  pro- 
fane miscreant.  And  he  kept  telling  himself  that  the 
moment  he  did  this,  the  other  man  would  calmly 
blow  a  hole  through  him,  and  drop  him  at  Mar- 
jorie's feet,  while  the  other  passengers  shrank  away 
in  terror. 

He  told  himself  that,  while  it  might  be  a  fine  im- 
pulse to  leap  to  her  defence,  it  was  a  fool  im- 
pulse to  leap  off  a  precipice  and  leave  Marjorie  alone 
among  strangers,  with  a  dead  man  and  a  scandal,  as 
the  only  rewards  for  his  impulse.  He  vowed  that 
he  would  hold  himself  in  check,  and  let  the  robbers 
take  everything,  leaving  him  only  the  name  of  cow- 
ard, provided  they  left  him  also  the  power  to  defend 
Marjorie  better  at  another  time. 


302  EXCUSE  ME! 

And  now  that  he  saw  the  clumsy-handed  thugs 
rifling  his  sweetheart's  jewelry,  he  felt  all  that  he  had 
foreseen,  and  his  head  fought  almost  in  vain  against 
the  white  fire  of  his  heart.  Between  them  he  trem- 
bled like  a  leaf,  and  the  sweat  globed  on  his  fore- 
head. 

The  worst  of  it  was  the  shivering  terror  of  Mar- 
jorie,  and  the  pitiful  eyes  she  turned  on  him.  But  he 
clenched  his  teeth  and  waited,  thinking  fiercely, 
watching,  like  a  hovering  eagle,  a  chance  to  swoop. 

But  the  robbers  kept  glancing  this  way  and  that, 
and  one  motion  would  mean  death.  They  themselves 
were  so  overwrought  with  their  own  ordeal  and  its 
immediate  conclusion,  that  they  would  have  killed 
anybody.  Mallory  shifted  his  foot  cautiously,  and 
instantly  a  gun  was  jabbed  into  his  stomach,  with  a 
snarl:  "Don't  you  move!" 

"Who's  moving?"  Mallory  answered,  with  a  poor 
imitation  of  a  careless  laugh. 

And  now  the  man  called  Bill  had  reached  Mar- 
jorie's  right  hand.  He  chortled:  "Golly,  look  at  the 
shiners." 

But  Jake,  who  had  chosen  Marjorie's  left  hand, 
roared : 

"Say,  you  cheated.  All  I  get  is  this  measly  plain 
gold  band." 

"Oh,  don't  take  that!"  Marjorie  gasped,  clench- 
ing her  hand. 

Mallory's  heart  ached  at  the  thought  of  this  final 


WOLVES  IN  THE  FOLD  303 

sacrilege.  He  had  the  license,  and  the  minister  at 
last — and  now  the  fiends  were  going  to  carry  off  the 
wedding  ring.  He  controlled  himself  with  a  desper- 
ate effort,  and  stooped  to  plead :  "Say,  old  man,  don't 
take  that.  That's  not  fair." 

"Shut  up,  both  of  you,"  Jake  growled,  and  jabbed 
him  again  with  the  gun. 

He  gave  the  ring  a  jerk,  but  Marjorie,  in  the  very 
face  of  the  weapon,  would  not  let  go.  She  struggled 
and  tugged,  weeping  and  imploring:  "Oh,  don't, 
don't  take  that!  It's  my  wedding  ring." 

"Agh,  what  do  I  care!"  the  ruffian  snarled,  and 
wrenched  her  finger  so  viciously  that  she  gave  a  little 
cry  of  pain. 

That  broke  Mallory's  heart.  With  a  wild,  bel- 
lowing, "Damn  you !"  he  hurled  himself  at  the  man, 
with  only  his  bare  hands  for  weapons. 


CHAPTER  XL 

A  HERO  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF 

PASSION  sent  Mallory  into  the  unequal  fight  with 
two  armed  and  desperate  outlaws.  But  reason  had 
planned  the  way.  He  had  been  studying  the  robber 
all  the  time,  as  if  the  villain  were  a  war-map, 
studying  his  gestures,  his  way  of  turning,  and  how 
he  held  the  revolver.  He  had  noted  that  the  man, 
as  he  frisked  the  passengers,  did  not  keep  his  finger 
on  the  trigger,  but  on  the  guard. 

Marjorie's  little  battle  threw  the  desperado  off 
his  balance  a  trifle ;  as  he  recovered,  Mallory  struck 
him,  and  swept  him  on  over  against  the  back  of  a 
seat.  At  the  same  instant,  Mallory's  right  hand 
went  like  lightning  to  the  trigger  guard,  and  gripped 
the  fingers  in  a  vise  of  steel,  while  he  drove  the  man's 
elbow  back  against  his  side.  Mallory's  left  hand 
meanwhile  flung  around  his  enemy's  neck,  and  gave 
him  a  spinning  fall  that  sent  his  left  hand  out  for 
balance.  It  fell  across  the  back  of  the  seat,  and  Mal- 
lory pinioned  it  with  elbow  and  knee  before  it  could 
escape. 

All  in  the  same  crowded  moment,  his  left  knuckles 
jolted  the  man's  chin  in  air,  and  so  bewildered  him 

304 


A  HERO  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF      305 

that  his  muscles  relaxed  enough  for  Mallory's  right 
fingers  to  squirm  their  way  to  the  trigger,  and  aim 
the  gun  at  the  other  robber,  and  finally  to  get  entire 
control  of  it. 

The  thing  had  happened  in  such  a  flash  that  the 
second  outlaw  could  hardly  believe  his  eyes.  The 
shriek  of  the  astounded  passengers,  and  the  grunt  of 
Mallory's  prisoner,  as  he  crashed  backward,  woke 
him  to  the  need  for  action.  He  caught  his  other 
gun  from  its  holster,  and  made  ready  for  a  double 
volley,  but  there  was  nothing  to  aim  at.  Mallory 
was  crouched  in  the  seat,  and  almost  perfectly  cov- 
ered by  a  human  shield. 

Still,  from  force  of  habit  and  foolhardy  pluck, 
Bill  aimed  at  Mallory's  right  eyebrow,  just  abaft 
Jake's  right  ear,  and  shouted  his  old  motto : 

"Hands  up!  you!" 

"Hands  up  yourself!"  answered  Mallory,  and  his 
victim,  shuddering  at  the  fierce  look  in  his  com- 
rade's eyes,  gasped:  "For  God's  sake,  don't  shoot, 
Bill!" 

Even  then  the  fellow  stood  his  ground,  and  de- 
bated the  issue,  till  Mallory  threw  such  ringing  de- 
termination into  one  last:  "Hands  up,  or  by  God,  I'll 
fire!"  that  he  caved  in,  lifted  his  fingers  from  the 
triggers,  turned  the  guns  up,  and  slowly  raised  both 
hands  above  his  head. 

A  profound  "Ah!"  of  relief  soughed  through  the 
car,  and  Mallory,  still  keeping  his  eye  on  Bill,  got 


306  EXCUSE  ME! 

down  cautiously  from  the  seat.  The  moment  he  re- 
leased Jake's  left  hand,  it  darted  to  the  holster 
where  his  second  gun  was  waiting.  But  before  he 
could  clutch  the  butt  of  it,  Mallory  jabbed  the  muzzle 
of  his  own  revolver  in  the  man's  back,  and  growled: 
"Put  'em  up!"  And  the  robber's  left  hand  joined 
the  right  in  air,  while  Mallory's  left  hand  lifted  the 
revolver,  and  took  possession  of  it. 

Mallory  stood  for  a  moment,  breathing  hard  and 
a  little  incredulous  at  his  own  swift,  sweet  triumph. 
Then  he  made  an  effort  to  speak  as  if  this  sort  of 
thing  were  quite  common  with  him,  as  if  he  over- 
powered a  pair  of  outlaws  every  morning  before 
breakfast,  but  his  voice  cracked  as  he  said,  in  a 
drawing-room  tone: 

"Dr.  Temple,  would  you  mind  relieving  that  man 
of  those  guns?" 

Dr.  Temple  was  so  set  up  by  this  distinction  that 
he  answered:  "Not  by  a " 

"Walter!"  Mrs.  Temple  checked  him,  before  he 
could  utter  the  beautiful  word,  and  Dr.  Temple 
looked  at  her  almost  reproachfully,  as  he  sighed: 
"Golly,  I  should  like  to  swear  just  once  more." 

Then  he  reached  up  and  disarmed  the  man  who 
had  taken  his  wallet  and  his  wife's  keepsakes.  But 
the  doctor  was  not  half  so  happy  over  the  recovery 
of  his  property  as  over  the  unbelievable  luxury  of 
finding  himself  taking  two  revolvers  away  from  a 
masked  train-robber. 


A  HERO  IN  SPITE  OF  HIMSELF      307 

American  children  breathe  in  this  desperado  ro- 
mance with  their  earliest  traditions,  and  Dr.  Temple 
felt  all  his  boyhood  zest  surge  back  with  a  boy's  tre- 
mendous rapture  in  a  deed  of  derring-do.  And  now 
nothing  could  check  his  swagger,  as  he  said  to  Mai- 
lory: 

"What  shall  we  do  with  these  dam-ned  sinners?" 

He  felt  like  apologizing  for  the  clerical  relapse 
into  a  pulpitism,  but  Mallory  answered  briskly: 
"We'd  better  take  them  into  the  smoking  room. 
They  scare  the  ladies.  But  first,  will  the  conductor 
take  those  bags  and  distribute  the  contents  to  their 
rightful  owners  ?" 

The  conductor  was  proud  to  act  as  lieutenant  to 
this  Lieutenant,  and  he  quickly  relieved  the  robbers 
of  their  loot-kits. 

Mallory  smiled.  "Don't  give  anybody  my  things," 
and  then  he  jabbed  his  robber  with  one  of  the  re- 
volvers, and  commanded:  "Forward,  march!" 

The  little  triumphal  procession  moved  off,  with 
Bill  in  the  lead,  followed  by  Dr.  Temple,  looking 
like  a  whole  field  battery,  followed  by  Jake,  followed 
by  Mallory,  followed  by  the  porter  and  as  many  of 
the  other  passengers  as  could  crowd  into  the  smoking 
room. 

The   rest   went  after  those   opulent   feed-bags. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY 

MARJORIE,  as  the  supposed  wife  of  the  rescuing 
angel,  was  permitted  first  search,  and  the  first  thing 
she  hunted  for  was  a  certain  gold  bracelet  that  was 
none  of  hers.  She  found  it  and  seized  it  with  a 
prayer  of  thanks,  and  concealed  it  among  her  own 
things. 

Mrs.  Temple  gave  her  a  guilty  start,  by  speaking 
across  a  barrier: 

"Mrs.  Mallory,  your  husband  is  the  bravest  man 
on  earth." 

"Oh,  I  know  he  is,"  Marjorie  beamed,  and  added 
with  a  spasm  of  conscience:  "but  he  isn't  my  hus- 
band!" 

Mrs.  Temple  gasped  in  horror,  but  Marjorie 
dragged  her  close,  and  poured  out  the  whole  story, 
while  the  other  passengers  recovered  their  proper- 
ties with  as  much  joy  as  if  they  were  all  new  gifts 
found  on  a  bush. 

Meanwhile,  under  Mallory's  guidance,  the  porter 
fastened  the  outlaws  together  back  to  back  with  the 
straps  of  their  own  feed-bags.  The  porter  was  re- 
joicing that  his  harvest  of  tips  was  not  blighted  after 
all. 

308 


CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY      309 

Mallory  completed  his  bliss,  by  giving  him  Dr. 
Temple's  brace  of  guns,  and  establishing  him  as 
jailer,  with  a  warning:  "Now,  porter,  don't  take 
your  eye  off  'em." 

"Lordy,  I  won't  bat  an  eyelid." 

"If  either  of  these  lads  coughs,  put  a  hole  through 
both  of  'em." 

The  porter  chuckled:  "My  fingers  is  just  a-itchin' 
fer  them  lovin'  triggers." 

And  now  Mr.  Baumann,  having  scrambled  back 
his  possessions,  hastened  into  the  smoking  room,  and 
regarded  the  two  hangdog  culprits  with  magnificent 
generosity;  he  forgave  them  their  treatment.  In 
fact,  he  went  so  far  as  to  say:  "You  gents  vill  be 
gettin'  off  at  Reno,  yes?  You'll  be  needing  a  good 
firm  of  lawyers.  Don't  forget  us.  Baumann"  (he 
put  a  card  in  Bill's  hat)  "and  Blumen"  (he  put  a 
card  in  Jake's  hat) .  "Avoid  substitoots." 

Mallory  pocketed  two  of  the  captured  revolvers, 
lest  a  need  might  arise  suddenly  again.  As  he  hur- 
ried down  the  aisle,  he  was  received  with  cheers. 
The  passengers  gave  him  an  ovation,  but  he  only 
smiled  timidly,  and  made  haste  to  Marjorie's 
side. 

She  regarded  him  with  such  idolatry  that  he  al- 
most regretted  his  deed.  But  this  mood  soon  passed 
in  her  excitement,  and  in  a  moment  she  was  surrep- 
titiously showing  him  the  bracelet.  He  became  an 
accessory  after  the  fact,  and  shared  her  guilt,  for 


310  EXCUSE  ME! 

when  she  groaned  with  a  sudden  droop:  "She'll  get 
it  back!"  he  grimly  answered,  "Oh,  no  she  won't!" 
hoisted  the  window,  and  flung  the  bracelet  into  a  lit- 
tle pool  by  the  side  of  the  track,  with  a  farewell: 
"Good-bye,  trouble !" 

As  he  drew  his  head  in,  a  side  glance  showed  him 
that  up  near  the  engine  a  third  train-robber  held  the 
miserably  weary  train  crew  in  line. 

He  found  the  conductor  just  about  to  pull  the  bell- 
rope,  to  proceed.  The  conductor  had  forgotten  all 
about  the  rest  of  the  staff.  Mallory  took  him  aside, 
and  told  him  the  situation,  then  turned  to  Marjorie, 
said:  "Excuse  me  a  minute,"  and  hurried  forward. 
The  conductor  followed  Mallory  through  the  train 
into  the  baggage  coach. 

The  first  news  the  third  outlaw  had  of  the  counter- 
revolution ' occurring  in  the  sleeping  car  was  a 
mysterious  bullet  that  flicked  the  dust  near  his  heel, 
and  a  sonorus  shout  of  "Hands  up !"  As  he  whirled 
in  amaze,  he  saw  two  revolvers  aimed  point  blank 
at  him  from  behind  a  trunk.  He  hoisted  his  guns 
without  parley,  and  the  train  crew  trussed  him  up  in 
short  order. 

Mallory  ran  back  to  Marjorie,  and  the  conductor 
followed  more  slowly,  reassuring  the  passengers  in 
the  other  cars,  and  making  certain  that  the  train  was 
ready  to  move  on  its  way. 

Mallory  went  straight  to  Dr.  Temple,  with  a 
burning  demand: 


CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY      311 

"You  dear  old  fraud,  will  you  marry  me?" 

Dr.  Temple  laughed  and  nodded.  Marjorie  and 
Mrs.  Temple  had  been  telling  him  the  story  of  the 
prolonged  elopement,  and  he  was  eager  to  atone  for 
his  own  deception,  by  putting  an  end  to  their 
misery. 

"Just  wait  one  moment,"  he  said,  and  as  a  final 
proof  of  affection,  he  unbuttoned  his  collar  and  put 
it  on  backwards.  Mrs.  Temple  brought  out  the  dis- 
carded bib,  and  he  donned  it  meekly.  The  trans- 
formation explained  many  a  mystery  the  old  man  had 
enmeshed  himself  in. 

Even  as  he  made  ready  for  the  ceremony,  the  con- 
ductor appeared,  looked  him  over,  grinned,  and 
reached  for  the  bell-cord,  with  a  cheerful:  "All 
aboard!" 

Mallory  had  a  sort  of  superstitious  dread,  not 
entirely  unfounded  on  experience,  that  if  the  train 
got  under  way  again,  it  would  run  into  some  new 
obstacle  to  his  marriage.  He  turned  to  the  conduc- 
tor: 

"Say,  old  man,  just  hold  the  train  till  after  my 
wedding,  won't  you?" 

It  was  not  much  to  ask  in  return  for  his  services, 
but  the  conductor  was  tired  of  being  second  in  com- 
mand. He  growled : 

"Not  a  minute.    We're  'way  behind  time." 

"You  might  wait  till  I'm  married,"  Mallory 
pleaded. 


312  EXCUSE  ME! 

"Not  on  your  life!"  the  conductor  answered,  and 
he  pulled  the  bell-rope  twice;  in  the  distance,  the 
whistle  answered  twice. 

Mallory's  temper  flared  again.  He  cried:  "This 
train  doesn't  go  another  step  till  I'm  married!"  He 
reached  up  and  pulled  the  bell-rope  once ;  in  the  dis- 
tance the  whistle  sounded  once. 

This  was  high  treason,  and  the  conductor  ad- 
vanced on  him  threateningly,  as  he  seized  the  cord 
once  more.  "You  touch  that  rope  again,  and 
I'll " 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't,"  said  Mallory,  as  he  whisked 
a  revolver  from  his  right  pocket  and  jammed  it  into 
the  conductor's  watch-pocket.  The  conductor  came 
to  attention. 

Then  Mallory,  standing  with  his  right  hand  on 
military  duty,  put  out  his  left  hand,  and  gave  the 
word:  "Now,  parson." 

He  smiled  still  more  as  he  heard  Kathleen's  voice 
wailing:  "But  I  can't  find  my  bracelet.  Where's  my 
bracelet?" 

"Silence !  Silence !"  Dr.  Temple  commanded,  and 
then:  "Join  hands,  my  children." 

Marjorie  shifted  Snoozleums  to  her  left  arm,  put 
her  right  hand  into  Mallory's,  and  Dr.  Temple, 
standing  between  them,  began  to  drone  the  ritual. 
Exerybody  said  they  made  a  right  pretty  picture. 

When  the  old  clergyman  had  done  his  work,  the 
young  husband-at-last  graciously  rescinded  military 


CLICKETY-CLICKETY-CLICKETY      313 

law,  recalled  the  artillery  from  the  conductor's  very 
midst,  and  remembering  Manila,  smiled: 
"You  may  fire  when  ready,  conductor." 
The  conductor's  rage  had  cooled,  and  he  slapped 
the  bridegroom  on  the  back  with  one  hand,  as  he 
pulled  the  cord  with  the  other.  The  train  began  to 
creak  and  tug  and  shift.  The  ding-dong  of  the  bell 
floated  murmurously  back  as  from  a  lofty  steeple, 
and  the  clickety-click,  click-clickety-click  quickened 
and  softened  into  a  pleasant  gossip,  as  the  speed 
grew,  and  the  way  was  so  smooth  for  the  wheels  that 
they  seemed  to  be  spinning  on  rails  of  velvet. 


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Angel  of  Pain,  The.    By  E.  F.  Benson. 

Annals  of  Ann,  The.     By  Kate  Trimble  Sharber. 

Battle  Ground,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 

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Bella  Donna.    By  Robert  Hichens. 

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Bill  Toppers,  The.    By  Andre  Castaigne. 

Butterfly  Man,  The.     By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Cab  No.  44.    By  R.  F.  Foster. 

Calling  of  Dan  Matthews,  The.     By  Harold  Bell  Wrigkt 

Cape  Cod  Stories.    By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Challoners,  The     By  E.  F.  Benson. 

City  of  Six,  The.    By  C.  L.  Canfield. 

Conspirators,  The      By  Robert  W.  Chambers. 

Dan  Merrithew.     By  Lawrence  Perry. 

Day  of  the  Dog,  The.    By  George  Barr  McCutcheon. 

Depot  Master,  The.     By  Joseph  C.  Lincoln. 

Derelicts.    By  William  J.  Locke. 

Diamonds  Cut  Paste.    By  Agnes  &  Egerton  Castle. 

Early  Bird,  The.     By  George  Randolph  Chester. 

Eleventh  Hour,  The.     By  David  Potter. 

Elizabeth  in  Rugea.     By  the  author  of  Elizabeth  and  Her 

German   Garden. 

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Gentleman,  The.     By  Alfred  Ollivant. 
Girl  Who  Won,  The.    By  Beth  Ellis. 
Going  Some.    By  Rex  Beach. 
Hidden  Water.     By  Dane  Coolidge. 

Honor  of  the  Big  Snows,  The.    By  James  Oliver  Curwood. 
Hopalong  Cassidy.     By  Clarence  E.  Mulford. 
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Romance  of  a  Plain  Man,  The.     By  Ellen  Glasgow. 
Running  Fight,  The     By  Win.  Hamilton  Osborne. 
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Three  Brothers,  The.     By  Eden  Phillpotts. 
Thurston  of  Orchard  Valley.     By  Harold  Bindloss. 
Title  Market,  The.     By  Emily  Post. 
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Watchers  of  the  Plains,  The.    By  Ridgwell  Cullum. 
White  Sister,  The,     By  Marion  Crawford. 
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