Kitabı oku: «The Disagreeable Woman», sayfa 5

CHAPTER XV.
THE PROFESSOR'S COURTSHIP

"What a guy!"

The busy day at Macy's was over. Troops of young women passed through the doors, in street costume, and laughing and chatting, made their way up or down Sixth Avenue, or turned into Twenty-third street. Among them was Ruth Canby, and it was to her that her friend Maria Stevenson addressed the above exclamation.

Ruth turned to observe the figure indicated by her friend, and was almost speechless with surprise.

At the corner leaning against the lamppost was a figure she knew well. The rusty overcoat with its amplitude of cape, the brown crushed hat, the weather-beaten face, and the green goggles were unmistakable. It was Prof. Poppendorf. He was peering in his short-sighted way at the young women emerging from the great store with an inquiring gaze. Suddenly his eyes brightened. He had found the object of his search.

"Mees Ruth!" he exclaimed, stepping forward briskly, "I haf come to walk home with you."

Ruth looked confused and almost distressed. She would gladly have found some excuse to avoid the walk but could think of none.

"Maria!" she said, hurriedly, "it is an old friend of the family. I shall have to leave you."

Her friend looked at the rusty figure in amazement.

"Oh, well, Ruth," she said, "we will meet to-morrow. So long!"

This was not perhaps the way in which a Fifth Avenue maiden would have parted from her friend, but Maria Stevenson was a free and easy young woman, of excellent heart and various good qualities, but lacking the social veneering to be met with in a different class of society.

"How provoking!" thought Ruth, as she reluctantly took her place beside the Professor, who, unlike herself, seemed in the best of spirits.

"I haf waited here a quarter of an hour to meet you, Mees Ruth," he said.

"I wish you hadn't," thought Ruth, but she only said, "I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble."

"It was no trouble, I assure you, Mees Ruth," said her elderly companion in as genial a tone as his bass voice could assume.

"Let us cross the street," suggested Ruth.

She wished as soon as possible to get out of sight of her shop companions, who were sure to tease her the next day.

"With all my heart," said the Professor. "I should wish to be more alone."

They crossed Sixth Avenue, and walked down on the west side. Ruth was wondering all the while what on earth could have induced the Professor to take such pains to offer her his escort. She did not have long to wait.

"I haf something very particular to say to you, Mees Ruth," said the Professor, gazing fondly at her through his green goggles.

"Indeed!" returned Ruth, in great surprise.

"Yes, Mees Ruth, I haf been feeling very lonely. I am tired of living at a boarding-house. I wish to have a home of my own. Will you marry me? Will you be my frau—I mean my wife?"

Ruth Canby stopped short. She was "like to drop," as she afterwards expressed it.

"Marry you!" she repeated, in a dazed way.

"Yes, Mees Ruth, dear Mees Ruth, I want you to be my wife."

"But, Professor, I could never think of marrying a man so–" old she was about to add, but she feared it would hurt the Professor's feelings.

"I know what you would say, Mees Ruth. You think I am too old. But I am strong. See here!" and he smote his large breast vigorously. "I am sound, and I shall live many years. My father lived till eighty-five, and I am only sixty-five."

"I am only twenty."

"True! you are much younger, but no young man would love you so fondly."

"I don't know," said Ruth.

"Perhaps you think I am poor, but it is not so. I haf a good income, and I haf just been appointed to gif lectures on philosophy in Miss Green's school on Madison Avenue. We will take a nice flat. I will furnish it well, and we will haf a happy home."

"Thank you very much, Prof. Poppendorf," said Ruth, hurriedly. "Indeed I feel complimented that such a learned man and great scholar should wish to marry me, but I am only a simple girl—I have not much education—and I should not make a suitable wife for you."

"Do not think of that, Mees Ruth. I will teach you myself. I will teach you Latin and Greek, and Sanscrit, if you please. I will read my lectures on philosophy to you, and I will make you 'une femme savante,' so that you can talk with my brother Professors who will come to see me. You can cook, can you not, Mees Ruth?"

"Yes, I know how to cook, but—"

"Ah, that is well," said the Professor, in a tone of satisfaction. "All the German ladies can cook. Frau von Bismarck, the wife of my old friend, is an excellent cook. I haf dined at Bismarck's house."

"But," said Ruth, firmly, "I can not think of becoming your wife, Prof. Poppendorf."

"Ach, so!" said the Professor, in a tone of disappointment. "Do not make such a mistake, my dear Mees Ruth. Is it nothing to become Mrs. Professor Poppendorf. You will take a good place in society. For I assure you that I am well known among scholars. I am now busy on a great work on philosophy, which will extend my fame. I will make you proud of your husband."

"Indeed, Prof. Poppendorf, I do not doubt your learning or your fame, but I can not marry a man old enough to be my grandfather."

"So, I am not so sure about that. I am old enough to be your father, but—"

"Never mind! We will not argue the point. I hope you will say no more. I can not marry you."

"Ah! is there another? Haf I a rival?" demanded the Professor, frowning fiercely. "It is that Dr. Fenwick?"

"No, it is not."

"I do not think he would care to marry you."

"And I don't want to marry him, though I think him a very nice young gentleman."

"Who is it, then?"

"If you must know," said Ruth, pettishly, "it is that young man who took supper with us not long ago."

"The young man from the country?"

"Yes."

"But what do you see in him, Mees Ruth. He is a yokel."

"A what?"

"He is a very worthy young man, I do not doubt, but what does he know? He is a farmer, is he not, with no ideas beyond his paternal acres?"

"Prof. Poppendorf, I will not have you speak so of my Stephen," said Ruth, while a wave of anger passed over her face.

"Ah, that is his name. Stephen. Pardon, Mees Ruth! I do not wish to say anything against this rural young man, but he will never give you the position which I offer you."

"Perhaps not, but I like him better."

"Ach, so. Then is my dream at an end; I did hope to have you for my frau, and haf a happy home and a loving companion in my declining years."

His tone seemed so mournful that Ruth was touched with pity and remorse.

"Prof. Poppendorf," she said, gently, "you must not be too much disappointed. There are many who would appreciate the honor of marrying you. Why do you not ask Mrs. Wyman?"

"She is a butterfly—a flirt. I would not marry her if there were no other woman living."

The young woman from Macy's quite agreed with the Professor, and it was not without satisfaction that she heard him express himself in this manner.

"Well," she continued, "then there is Miss Blagden. She is of a more suitable age."

"The Disagreeable Woman. What do you take me for, Mees Ruth? She is too strong-minded."

"Perhaps so, but I am sure she has a kind heart."

"I should never be happy with her—never!" said the Professor, decidedly.

"Were you ever married, Professor?" asked Ruth with sudden curiosity.

"Yes, I was married when I was thirty—but my Gretchen only lived two years. I haf mourned for her more than thirty years."

"You have waited a long time, Professor."

"Yes; till I saw you, Mees Ruth, I never haf seen the woman I wanted to marry. Perhaps," he added with sudden hope, "this young man, Stephen, does not wish to marry you."

"He will be only too glad," said Ruth, tossing her head. "He offered himself to me a year ago."

"Then there is no hope for me?"

"None at all, Professor."

They had reached Waverley Place, and so there was no time for further conversation. As they came up the stoop Mrs. Wyman saw them through the window. She was in waiting in the hall.

"Have you had a nice walk together?" she purred.

"How I hate that woman!" said Ruth to herself.

She ran up stairs and prepared for supper.

CHAPTER XVI.
SITS THE WIND IN THAT QUARTER

Of course I attended the Patti concert. The seat given me was in the best part of the house, and I felt somewhat bashful when I found that all my neighbors wore dress suits. My own suit—the best I had—was beginning to show the marks of wear, but I did not dare go to the expense of another.

My next neighbor was an elderly gentleman, bordering upon sixty. In the twenty minutes that elapsed before the rise of the curtain we fell into a pleasant conversation. It was pleasant to find that he was becoming interested in me.

"You enjoy Patti?" he said. "But then I hardly need ask that. Your presence here is sufficient evidence."

"I have no doubt I shall enjoy Patti," I answered. "I have never heard her."

"Indeed? How does that happen?"

"Because I have been only three months in New York. I came here from the country, and of course I had no chance to hear her there."

"Excuse my curiosity, but you do not look like a business man."

"I am not. I am a practising physician."

"Indeed!" he replied, with interest. "I wish you could cure my rheumatism."

"I should like a chance to try."

This was a little audacious, as probably he had his own family physician, but it came naturally upon his remark.

"You shall try," he said, impulsively. "My family physician has failed to benefit me."

"It may be so with me."

"At any rate I will try you. Can you call at my house to-morrow at eleven o'clock?"

"I will do so with pleasure."

He gave me his card. I found that his name was Gregory Vincent, and that he lived in one of the finest parts of Madison Avenue. It occurred to me that he was perhaps imprudent in trusting an unknown young physician, but I was not foolish enough to tell him so.

"I will call," I said with professional gravity, and I entered the name and engagement in my medical note-book.

Here the curtain rose, and our thoughts were soon occupied by the stage.

When the concert was over, my new friend as he shook my hand, said, "I can rely upon your calling to-morrow, Dr. Fenwick?"

"I will not fail you."

"I don't know how it is," he said, "but though we are strangers I have a prophetic instinct that you can help me."

"I will do my best, Mr. Vincent."

Congratulating myself on my new and promising patient, I made my way into the lobby. There presently I met Mrs. Wyman and Count Penelli. I learned later that she had purchased two cheap seats and invited the Count to accompany her. They had not distinguished me in the audience, I was so far away from them.

"Dr. Fenwick!" exclaimed Mrs. Wyman, in surprise. "I thought you said you were not coming."

"I changed my mind," I answered, smiling. "Of course, you enjoyed the concert?"

"Did I not? But where were you sitting?"

"In the orchestra."

"What! Among the millionaires?"

"I don't know if they were millionaires. I was ashamed of my appearance. All wore dress suits except myself and the ladies."

"It seems to me, doctor, you were extravagant."

"It does seem so."

I did not propose to enlighten Mrs. Wyman as to the small expense I was at for a ticket. I could see with secret amusement that her respect for me was increased by my supposed liberal outlay. In this respect I showed to advantage beside her escort who had availed himself of a ticket purchased by her. She had represented that the tickets were sent her by the management.

"The Count had an advantage over us," said the widow. "He could understand the language."

"Si, Signora," said the Count, with a smile.

"It wasn't the words I cared for," said I. "I should enjoy Patti if she sang in Arabic."

"Well, perhaps so. Were you ever in Italy, doctor?"

"No, the only foreign country I ever visited was New Jersey."

"Is New Jersey then a foreign country?" asked the Count, puzzled.

"It is only a joke, Count," said the widow.

"And a poor one, I admit."

"The Count had been telling me of his ancestral home, of the vine-clad hills, and the olive trees, and the orange groves. Oh, I am wild to visit that charming Italy."

"Perhaps you may do so some day, my dear Mrs. Wyman," said the Count, in a soft tone.

The widow cast down her eyes.

"It would be too lovely," she said.

When we reached the boarding-house, the Count asked, "May I come up to your room, Dr. Fenwick?"

"Certainly. I shall be glad to have you do so." My room was a small one. I should have had to pay a higher price for a larger one. However, I gave the Count my only chair, and sat on the bed.

"Is it permitted?" he asked, as he lighted a cigarette.

"Oh, yes," I replied, but I only said so out of politeness. It was decidedly disagreeable to have any one smoke in my chamber in the evening. I could, however, open the window afterwards and give it an airing.

"Mrs. Wyman is a very fine woman," said the Count, after a pause.

"Very," I responded, briefly.

"And she is rich, is she not?" he asked, in some anxiety.

"Sits the wind in that quarter?" I thought. "Well, I won't stand in the way."

"She seems independent."

"Ah! you mean—"

"That she has enough to live upon. She never seemed to have any money troubles. I suppose it is the same with you, you no doubt draw a revenue from your estates in Italy?"

"No, no, you make a mistake. They belong to my father, and he is displease with me. He will send me no money."

"Are you the oldest son?"

"Si, signor!" but he answered hesitatingly.

"Then you will be all right some day."

"True, doctor, some day, but just now I am what you call short. You could do me a great favor."

"What is it?"

"If you could lend me fifty dollar?"

"My dear Count, it would be quite impossible. Do you think I am rich?"

"You pay five—six dollar for your ticket to hear Patti."

"It was imprudent, but I wished to hear her; now I must be careful."

"I would pay you when I get my next remittance from Italy."

"It will not be possible," I answered, firmly. "Have you asked Prof. Poppendorf?"

"No! Has he got money?"

"I think he has more than I."

"I have a special use for the money," said the Count, but I did not ask what it was.

Presently the Count rose and left me. It took twenty minutes to clear the room of the vile smell of cigarette smoke.

"After all," thought I, "there is a chance for Mrs. Wyman to become a Countess, that is if he is a real Count." Upon this point I did not feel certain.

"Well, did you enjoy Patti?" asked Miss Blagden at the breakfast table.

"Immensely. Why did you not go?"

"Because I have very little taste for music," answered the Disagreeable Woman.

"Mrs. Wyman was there."

"She sings," said Miss Blagden, with a slight smile.

"Yes, the Count was with her."

"Humph! where did they sit?"

"In the upper part of the house somewhere. I felt myself out of place among the Four Hundred. But it brought me luck."

"How is that?"

"I secured a patient, a Mr. Gregory Vincent of Madison Avenue."

"Was Gregory Vincent there? How did you make his acquaintance?"

"He was my next neighbor. He seemed to take a liking to me, confided to me that he was a victim of rheumatism, and I am to assume charge of his case."

"I am very glad," said Miss Blagden, heartily. "Do your best to cure him."

"I will."

"And don't be afraid to send him in a good bill."

"I am sure he will pay me liberally."

"It may be your stepping stone to success."

"Thank you for your kind interest."

"And how is your poor patient—Alice Mills?"

"Quite well now, but I wish she were not obliged to spend so many hours in a crowded store."

"When do you call there again?"

"I may call this morning."

"I will go with you. I have a plan for them."

Miss Blagden accompanied me to the poor house. She was so kind and gentle that I did not understand how any one could call her the Disagreeable Woman.

In a few days, thanks to her, Mrs. Mills was installed as housekeeper to a wealthy widower in Fifty-seventh street. Alice was made governess to two young children, and Frank was provided with a home in return for some slight services.