Kitabı oku: «A Romance in Transit», sayfa 5
XIII
BETWEEN STATIONS
When Mrs. Dunham returned to the central compartment of the Naught-fifty, the waiter was laying the table for breakfast, and the President was looking on with the steadfast gaze which disconcerts.
"Good-morning, Cousin Jeannette. Up early to see the scenery, are you?" The genial greeting had no hint in it of inward disquietude, past or present.
"Yes, and I wish I had been earlier. I have been out on the platform watching the mountains grow."
"Grand, isn't it? You might have had a better view if our car had been left in its proper place in the rear; but our friend the passenger agent took good care to secure that for his own party."
Mrs. Dunham was inclined to be charitable. "I fancy he couldn't help it. From what he tells me, his people must be very exacting."
"Have you seen him this morning?" the President inquired, with some small show of curiosity.
"Yes; out on the platform. He has been telling me some of his exasperating experiences."
The President smiled indulgently. "I suspect our young friend has fallen into a habit of magnifying his difficulties," he said. "It's very easy to do, you know, when one's business makes a fine art of exaggeration."
"Why, he doesn't impress me that way, at all," said the good lady, who knew nothing of her cousin's very excellent reasons for disliking Brockway. "He seems to be a very pleasant young man, and quite intelligent."
Mr. Vennor shrugged his shoulders. "I don't question his intelligence – though it wasn't very remarkable at the dinner-table last night. Did you happen to find out whether he is going all the way across with his party?"
"He didn't say. His people are going up to Silver Plume to-day, but he can't go with them. He has to stay in Denver with one of the exacting ones whose ticket is out of repair."
"Ha! that's a very sharp little trick," said the President; but inasmuch as he did not elucidate, the chaperon misunderstood.
"To get him into trouble with the others? I fancy that is only incidental. Mr. Brockway is going to try to get Mr. Burton – our Mr. Burton, of Salt Lake City, you know – who is on the train, to take charge of the party on the Silver Plume trip."
Mr. Vennor said, "Oh," and then the young people began to appear, and the waiter announced breakfast. During the meal the President was too deeply engrossed in the working out of a small counterplot to hear or heed much of the desultory table-talk. It was quite evident that the passenger agent had learned of the proposed stop-over in Denver, and was preparing to take advantage of it. His confidence with Mrs. Dunham was only a roundabout way of notifying Gertrude.
Mr. Vennor considered many little schemes of the frustrating sort, and finally choosing one which seemed to meet all the requirements, put it in train immediately after breakfast.
"What are you going to do with yourself to-day?" he asked of Fleetwell, when they had drawn apart and lighted their cigars.
"Don't know," replied the collegian, between whiffs; "whatever the others want to do."
"I was just thinking," the President continued, carelessly. "The Beaswicke girls want to call on some friends of theirs, and that eliminates them. I expect to be busy all day; and Cousin Jeannette says she doesn't care to go about. Suppose you and Gertrude take a run up into the mountains on one of the narrow-gauges. It'll fill in the day, and you can be back in time for dinner this evening."
"I don't mind, if Gertrude wants to go; but I don't believe she does," said Fleetwell, with so little enthusiasm that the President looked at him sharply.
"Think not?"
"I'm almost sure she doesn't," the collegian replied, placidly.
Mr. Francis Vennor was a conservative man, slow to admit even the contradiction of facts. While waiting for Gertrude the previous evening, he had convinced himself that his daughter was about to sacrifice herself. To an impartial onlooker – and he prided himself on being no less – the evidence was logically conclusive; and, notwithstanding Gertrude's tardy denial, he still believed that his major premise was correct, or, at most, only errant in time.
Having thus set his judgment a bad example, it easily broke bounds again in the same direction. How should Fleetwell know that Gertrude would not care to spend the day in his company? Probably because they had found time before breakfast for another of their foolish disagreements. In that case, it would be the part of wisdom to separate them for the day; and a plan by which this might be accomplished, and the passenger agent checkmated at the same time, suggested itself at the instant.
"We'll let it go at that, then," he said, answering Fleetwell's assumption. "You can manage to wear out the day in town. Perhaps the Beaswicke girls will let you go calling with them."
"Think so? I'll go and ask them," Fleetwell said, with more animation than he had yet exhibited; and he threw away his cigar and went about it.
The President rose and crossed over to Mrs. Dunham's chair.
"Where is Gertrude?" he inquired.
"She complained of a headache and went to her room. Shall I call her?"
"Oh, no; but if you haven't already done so, I wish you wouldn't mention what Brockway told you, this morning – about his spending the day in Denver, I mean."
"Certainly not, if you wish it," the chaperon agreed; but the expression of her face was so plainly interrogative that the President was constrained to go on.
"There is nothing to be anxious about yet," he hastened to say; "but you know the old adage about the ounce of prevention. Gertrude is very self-willed, and they were together rather more than I could wish, last summer."
"I think you are altogether mistaken, Cousin Francis," said the good lady, in whom there was no drop of match-making blood. "She has talked very freely with me about him, and a young girl doesn't do that if there is any sentiment in the air."
"I hope you are right. But it will do no harm to give ourselves the benefit of the doubt. I fancy Chester didn't quite approve of the little diversion last evening – on the engine, you know."
"Pooh! I don't believe he gave it a second thought."
"Possibly not; but he had a very good right to object. It was a reckless bit of impropriety."
"You sat up for Gertrude last night; did you say as much to her?" the chaperon asked, shrewdly.
"Not quite that," said the President, who was unwilling to go into particulars.
"Because, if you did, it was injudicious, that's all. Gertrude is your own daughter, and she is enough like you to resent anything of that kind in a way to make you regretful. That accounts for the headache this morning."
Gertrude's father smiled rather grimly. "I shall presently find a remedy for the headache, and you'll see that it will work like a charm. But its efficacy will depend upon your discretion. Not a word about the passenger agent, if you please."
Mrs. Dunham promised, rather reluctantly, and Mr. Vennor put on his hat and left the compartment. He had business in the Ariadne; and a little later, Mrs. Burton, who was buttoning her shoe, looked up to find the calculating eyes of the President making a calm and leisurely valuation of her.
XIV
WITH DENVER IN SIGHT
There was the usual early morning confusion in the aisle of the Ariadne when Brockway picked his way forward to section three over a litter of opened hand-bags, lately polished shoes, and unshod feet. He found the Burton section empty, with the porter putting the finishing touches to his morning's work of scene-shifting.
"Yes, sah; de gemman's in de washroom, an' de lady – "
"Is right here," said a voice at Brockway's elbow. "Good-morning, Mr. Frederick; how do you find yourself – or aren't you lost?"
The forty-minute lock-out had left scant time for preliminaries, and Brockway left off the preamble.
"I'm not lost, but I'm going to be if you and John don't help me out. Will you do it?"
"Sight unseen." The little lady was eying her shoes wistfully and hoping that Brockway would be brief.
"I thought I could count on you. What is your programme for to-day?"
"For John, business, I suppose; for myself, a carriage, a handy card-case, and any number of 'how do you dos' and 'good-byes.' Why?"
"I want you both to give me the day, out and out. Listen, and don't say no till you've heard me through."
"Go on, but don't let it lap over into Denver; we're 'most there."
Brockway stated his case briefly. "It's probably the last chance I'll ever have to see her," he concluded.
"Why should you want to see her when there is nothing to be done, as you say?"
"I don't know that – but I do, and you must help me. Will you?"
"Help you carry on a brazen flirtation with that poor, innocent girl? Never! But if John says he'll go, I suppose I can't help myself" – resignedly.
"Thank you; I knew you wouldn't be cruel. And if John should happen to balk a little – "
"Why, I'll talk him over, of course; is that what you want?"
"That's it exactly. Thank you some more."
"Don't mention it. Is that all?"
"Y – yes, all but one little trifle of detail. Have you told John about my – my lunacy?"
"No."
"Then don't; it's bad enough to be an idiot and know it myself."
"I sha'n't – perhaps. Is that all?"
"Yes, I believe so."
"Then for mercy's sake do go and talk to John, and let me put on my shoes," said Mrs. Burton, impatiently. "I can't go to breakfast in my slippers."
Brockway vanished obediently, and presently found Burton struggling into his outer garments in the smoking-room.
"Hello, Fred; how are the invalids this morning? Get you out bright and early?"
"One of them did – that old fellow with the bad case of ticket-limits. I'm in trouble up to my neck, and you've got to help me out."
"Say the word and I'll do it if it costs me something," said Burton, who was nothing if not helpful to his friends.
"It's going to cost you something – a whole day, in fact. I promised to 'personally conduct' the crowd up to Silver Plume to-day, and the arrangements are all made. Now this old fellow says he isn't going; says I've got to stay in Denver with him and telegraph another thirty days to his ticket, or the heavens will fall. I'm going to do it, and I want you to take my place with the party."
"Same old maker of hard-and-fast promises, aren't you, Fred," said the general agent, smiling. "I suppose I can do it, if you can square it with Emily."
"I've done that already; she's awfully good about it – says she'll go along and help you out. What's this place? Overton? By Jove! I'll have to be getting back to my car; we're only fifteen miles out. Thank you much, old man – see you later" – and the passenger agent pushed through the group in the wash-room and dropped off to once more make the circuit of car Naught-fifty.
XV
YARD-LIMITS
It was while Brockway was making his second circuit of the private car that Mrs. Burton looked up and encountered the calculating gaze of the President.
"Ah – good-morning, Mrs. Burton; you remember me, I see. On your way back to Utah, are you?"
"Yes – " the "sir" was on the tip of her tongue, but she managed to suppress it. "We have been to Chicago, to the passenger meeting."
"So I inferred. Do you enjoy Chicago, Mrs. Burton?"
She felt that five minutes of this would unhinge her reason, but she made shift to answer, intelligently: "Yes, in a way; but I've never been about much. Mr. Burton is always so busy when we are there."
"Precisely; always busy; that is the whole history of civilized man in two words, isn't it? But where is your good husband?"
"He is in the wash-room," she began; but at that moment Burton appeared.
"Ha!" said the President; "good-morning, Mr. Burton. You didn't expect to find me here chatting with your wife, did you?"
"Well, no, not exactly – that is – " Burton's one weakness lay in undue deference to his superior officers, and he stumbled helplessly. But his wife came promptly to the rescue.
"It's such a distinction, Mr. Vennor, that we don't know how to properly acknowledge it," she retorted, laughing, "Will you excuse me if I finish buttoning my shoe?"
"Certainly, certainly" – the President's tone was genially paternal; "I merely wanted to have a word with Mr. Burton;" and he rose and drew the general agent across to the opposite section.
"Sit down, sit down, Burton; don't stand on ceremony with me," he said, patronizingly. "I came to ask a favor of you, and positively you embarrass me."
Burton sat down mechanically.
"I learned a few minutes ago through young Brockway that you were on the train," the President continued, lowering his voice, "and I understand that he wishes you to take charge of his party for the day on the trip up Clear Creek Canyon. Has he spoken to you about it?"
"Yes; he was here just now." Burton answered as he had sat down – mechanically.
"And you consented to do it, I presume?"
"Why, yes; he asked it as a personal favor, and I thought I might make a few new friends for our line. But if you don't approve – "
"Don't misunderstand me," interrupted the President, with well-feigned magnanimity; "as I said, I came to ask a favor. You met my daughter, Gertrude, when we were out last summer, I believe?"
"Yes, at Manitou." The general agent was far beyond soundings on the sea of mystery by this time.
"Well, you must know she took a great fancy to your wife, and when I heard of this arrangement, I determined to ask you to take her along with you for the day. May I count upon it?"
"Why, certainly; we shall be delighted," Burton rejoined. "Let me tell – "
But the President stopped him. He had taken time to reflect that a little secrecy might be judicious at this point; and he was shrewd enough to distrust women in any affair bordering upon the romantic. So he said:
"Suppose we make it a little surprise for both of them. Keep it to yourself, and when your train is ready to leave, I'll bring Gertrude over to you. How will that do?"
Burton was in a fair way to lose his head at being asked to share a secret with his President, and he promised readily.
"Not a word. Mrs. Burton will be delighted. I'll be on the lookout for you."
So it was arranged; and with a gracious word of leave-taking for the wife, Mr. Vennor went back to his car, rubbing his hands and smiling inscrutably. He found his daughter curled up in the great wicker chair in an otherwise unoccupied corner of the central compartment.
"Under the weather this morning, Gertrude?" he asked, wisely setting aside the constraint which might naturally be supposed to be an unpleasant consequence of their latest interview.
"Yes, a little," she replied, absently.
"I presume you haven't made any plans for the day," he went on; "I fancy you don't care to go visiting with the Beaswicke girls."
"No, indeed; I can do that at home."
"How would you like to go up to Silver Plume with Mr. Brockway's party?"
She knew well enough that her father's cold eyes had surprised the sudden flash of gladness in hers, but she was not minded to reopen the quarrel.
"Oh, that would be delightful," she said, annulling the significance of the words with the indifference of her tone; "quite as delightful as it is impossible."
"But it isn't impossible," said the President, blandly; "on the contrary, I have taken the liberty of arranging it – subject to your approval, of course. I chanced upon two old friends of ours who are going with the party, and they will take care of you and bring you back this evening."
"Friends of ours?" she queried; "who are they?"
"Ah, I promised not to tell you beforehand. Will you go?"
"Certainly, if you have arranged it," she rejoined, still speaking indifferently because she was unwilling to show him how glad she was. For she was frankly glad. The glamour of last night's revelation was over the recollection of those other days spent with Brockway, and she was impatiently eager to put her impressions quickly to the test of repetition – to suffer loss, if need be, but by all means to make sure. And because of this eagerness, she quite overlooked the incongruity of such a proposal coming from her father – an oversight which Mr. Vennor had shrewdly anticipated and reckoned upon.
It was 7.30, and the train was clattering through the Denver yards, measuring the final mile of the long westward run. Gertrude rose to go and get ready.
"You needn't hurry," said her father; "the narrow-gauge train doesn't leave for half an hour. I'll come for you when it is time to go."
He watched her go down the compartment and enter her stateroom without stopping to speak to any of the others. Then he held up his finger for the secretary.
"Harry, when the train stops, I want you should get off and see where Brockway goes. You know him, and you might make an excuse to talk with him. When you have found out, come and tell me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," said Quatremain; and when he had kicked his pride into a proper attitude of submission, he went about the errand.
XVI
THE MADDING CROWD
Twice a day, in the time whereof these things are written, the platform of the Denver Union Depot gave the incoming migrant his first true glimpse of the untrammelled West. A broad sea of planking, open to the heavens – and likewise to the world at large – was the morning and evening arena of a moving spectacle the like of which is not to be witnessed in any well-ordered railway station of the self-contained East.
Trains headed north, east, south, and west, backed across the platform and drawn apart in the midst to leave a passageway for the crowds; other trains going and coming, with shouting yard-men for outriders to clear the tracks; huge shifting pyramids of baggage piled high on tilting trucks, dividing with the moving trains the attention of the dodging multitude; the hurrying throngs imbued for the moment with the strenuous travail-spirit of the New West; these were the persons and the properties. And the shrieking safety-valves, the clanging bells, the tinnient gong of the breakfast-room, the rumbling trucks, and the under-roar of matter in motion, were the pieces in the orchestra.
It is all very different now, I am told. They have iron railings with wicket-gates and sentinels in uniform who ask to see your ticket, and a squad of policemen to keep order, and rain-sheds over the platforms (it used not to rain in the Denver I knew), and all the other appurtenances and belongings of a well-conducted railway terminus. But the elder order of disorder obtained on the autumn morning when the "Flying Kestrel" came to rest opposite the gap in the bisected trains filling the other tracks. Brockway was the first man out of the Tadmor, but the gadfly was a close second.
"No, sir; I don't intend to lose sight of you, Mr. ah – Brockway," he quavered; and he hung at the passenger agent's elbow while the latter was marshalling the party for the descent on the breakfast-room, a process which vocalized itself thus:
Brockway, handing the ladies in the debarking procession down the steps of the car: "Breakfast is ready in the dining-room. Special tables reserved for this party. Wait, and we'll all go in together. Leave your hand-baggage with the porter, unless it's something you will need during the day. Take your time; you have thirty minutes before the train leaves for Clear Creek Canyon and the Loop."
Chorus of the Personally Conducted:
"How long did you say we'd have?"
"What are they going to do with our car while we're gone?"
"Say, Mr. Passenger Agent, are you sure the baggage will be safe if we leave it with the porter?"
"What time have you now?"
"How far is it over to those mountains?"
"Oh, Mr. Brockway; won't this be a good chance to see if my trunk was put on the train with the others?"
"Say; what time did you say that Clear Creek Canyon train leaves?"
Brockway, answering the last question because the inquirer happens to be nearest at hand: "Eight o'clock."
The Querist, with his watch (which he has omitted to set back to mountain time) in his hand: "Eight o'clock? Then it's gone – it's half-past eight now! Look here."
Brockway, who is vainly endeavoring to persuade an elderly maiden lady to leave her canary in charge of the porter during the day: "That is central time you have, Mr. Tucker; mountain time is one hour slower. Careful, Mr. Perkins; let me take your grip. You won't need it to-day."
The Elderly Maiden Lady: "Now, Mr. Brockway, are you sure it'll be perfectly safe to leave Dicky with the porter?"
Mr. Somers, sotto voce in Brockway's ear: "Hang Dicky! Let's go to breakfast."
The Gadfly: "Mr. ah – Brockway, you will oblige me by sitting at my table. I don't ah – purpose to lose sight of you, sir."
Brockway, to the porter: "All out, John?"
The Porter, with the cavernous smile of his kind: "All out, sah."
Brockway, sandwiching himself between two of the unescorted ladies: "All aboard for the dining-room!"
So much Harry Quatremain, standing aloof, saw and heard, and was minded to go back to President Vennor and make his report accordingly. But the yard crew, already busily dismembering the "Flying Kestrel," whipped the Tadmor and the private car out into the yard, and the secretary was left standing in the unquiet crowd.
Having nothing better to do, he sauntered across to the depot, not intending to spy further upon the passenger agent, but rather cudgelling his brain to devise some pretext upon which he could safely lie to the President and so appease his self-respect. The pretext did not suggest itself; and after looking into the dining-room, where he saw Brockway and his thirty-odd in one corner, and the Burtons, whom he knew by sight, in another, he strolled out to the end of the building where the yard-crew was switching the Naught-fifty to its place on the short spur. The President was standing on the front platform; and Quatremain, having no plausible falsehood ready, reported the simple fact.
"Very good," said his employer. "Now go back and keep your eye on him; and, at precisely five minutes of eight, come and tell me where he is and what he is doing."
Quatremain turned on his heel and swore a clerkly oath, well smothered, to the effect that he would do nothing of the sort. It was not the first time the President had used him as a private detective, but, happily, use had not yet dulled his reluctance. None the less, he went back to the door of the dining-room and waited, and while he tarried curiosity came to keep wrath company. What was afoot that the President should be so anxious about the movements of the passenger agent? The secretary could not guess, but he determined to find out.
Three minutes before Quatremain's time-limit expired, Brockway, followed closely by a slope-shouldered old gentleman with close-set eyes, came out with Burton. He nodded to the secretary and kept on talking to the general agent. Quatremain could scarcely help overhearing.
"You can introduce yourself," he was saying; "there isn't time for any formalities. You'll find them docile enough – they haven't any kick coming with you, you know – and I'll be here to take them off your hands when you get back. No, I'll not go over to the train, unless you want me to; I'm going to the telegraph office with Mr. Jordan here, and then up-town to see our general agent about his ticket. Good-by, old man; and thank you again."
Quatremain looked at his watch. It was 7.55, to the minute, and he walked leisurely around to the private car.
"Well?" said the President, and the steady gaze of the cold eye slew the falsehood which the secretary was about to utter.
"He's in the telegraph office with one of his people," Quatremain replied, angry enough to curse himself for being so weak as to tell the truth.
"Very good. Go into my stateroom and get the mail ready. I'll come in and dictate to you presently."
The secretary obeyed as one who may not do otherwise, and left the stateroom door ajar. A moment later, he heard a tap at the door of Gertrude's room, and then the President and his daughter left the car together. Quatremain slammed down the cover of his desk, snatched his hat, and followed them. He had paid the servile price, and he would at least gratify his curiosity.
He caught sight of them in the crowd streaming out toward the Colorado Central train, and scored the first point when he observed that the President made a detour to avoid passing the open door of the telegraph office. Then he kept them in view till he saw Miss Vennor give her hand to Burton at the steps of one of the narrow-gauge cars.
At that moment, Mrs. Burton, who was comfortably established in the midst of a carful of the Tadmorians, chanced to look out of the window. She saw the President and his daughter come swiftly across the platform, saw her husband step out to meet them and shake hands with Gertrude, remarked the quick flash of glad surprise on the young girl's face, and the nervous anxiety with which the President consulted his watch, and was immediately as well apprised of the inwardness of the little plot as if she had devised it herself.
"Oh! oh!" she said to herself, with indignant emphasis; "that venerable old tyrant is turning her over to us to get her out of Fred's way! And he hasn't told her that Fred isn't going!"
Now, to the Emily Burton type of woman-kind, the marring of a plot is only less precious than the making of one. The little lady had never been known to think deeply, but a grain of swift wit is sometimes worth an infinity of tardy logic. Whatever intervened, the conclusion was clear and definite; Brockway's chance must be rescued at all hazards – and there were only two minutes in which to do it.
She scanned the throng on the platform eagerly, hoping to catch sight of him, but the faces were all strange save one. That was the face of the President's private secretary; and, without a moment's hesitation, she beckoned him.
Quatremain saw the signal, and made his way to her window, taking care to keep as many human screens as possible between himself and the group at the car steps.
"Mrs. Burton, I believe," he said, lifting his hat.
"Yes" – hurriedly. "Do you know Mr. Brockway?"
Quatremain bowed.
"Do you know where he is now?"
"Yes; he's over in the telegraph office."
"Will you take him a message from me, quickly?"
"Certainly, with pleasure."
"Then tell him I say he is going to be lost if he doesn't catch this train; he'll understand. And please hurry – there isn't a second to spare!"
Quatremain nodded, and vanished in the crowd. He understood nothing of what was toward, but he suspected that what he was about to do would somehow interfere with the President's plans, and that was sufficient to make him run when he was well out of sight. He found Brockway in the telegraph office, writing a message, with the slope-shouldered gentleman at his elbow, and delivered Mrs. Burton's message verbatim and shorn of any introduction whatsoever.
The effect on the passenger agent was surprising, if not explanatory. "Says I'm going to be – Not if I know it! I say, Tom" – flinging the pad of blanks at the operator, to call his attention – "wire anything – everything – this gentleman wants you to; I'm off!"
"But, Mr. ah – Brockway, I – I protest!" buzzed the gadfly, clutching at the passenger agent; but he was not quick enough, and when the protest was formulated, there was no one but the operator to listen to it.
The engine-bell was ringing and the train had begun to move when Brockway dashed out of the office, and the appreciative bystanders made way for him and cheered him as he sped away across the platform. It was neck-and-neck, and nothing to choose; but he was making it easily, when he collided squarely in mid career with the tall figure of the President. For a single passionate instant Mr. Francis Vennor forgot his traditions, and struck out savagely at the passenger agent. The blow caught Brockway full in the chest and made him gasp and stagger; but he gathered himself quickly, swerved aside, and ran on, catching the rear hand-rail of the last car as the train swept out of the station.
