Pipes O'Pan At Zekesbury Part 5

Upon his office desk John found a hastily written note. It was addressed in the well-known hand of his old chum. He eyed the missive apprehensively, and there was a positive pathos in his voice as he said aloud, "It's our divorce. I feel it!" The note, headed, "At the Office, 4 in Morning," ran like this:

"Dear Mack--I left you slumbering so soundly that, by noon, when you waken, I hope, in your refreshed state, you will look more tolerantly on my intentions as partially confided to you this night. I will not see you here again to say good-bye. I wanted to, but was afraid to 'rouse the sleeping lion.' I will not close my eyes to-night--fact is, I haven't time. Our serenade at Josie's was a pre-arranged signal by which she is to be ready and at the station for the 5 morning train. You may remember the lighting of three consecutive matches at her window before the igniting of her lamp. That meant, 'Thrice dearest one, I'll meet thee at the depot at 4:30 sharp.' So, my dear Mack, this is to inform you that, even as you read, Josie and I have eloped. It is all the old man's fault, yet I forgive him. Hope he'll return the favor. Josie predicts he will, inside of a week--or two weeks, anyhow. Good-bye, Mack, old boy; and let a fellow down as easy as you can.

Affectionately,

BERT."

"Heavens!" exclaimed John, stifling the note in his hand and stalking tragically around the room. "Can it be possible that I have nursed a frozen viper? An ingrate? A wolf in sheep's clothing? An orang-outang in gent's furnis.h.i.+ngs?"

"Was you callin' me, sir?" asked a voice at the door. It was the janitor.

"No!" thundered John; "Quit my sight! get out of my way! No, no, Thompson, I don't mean that," he called after him. "Here's a half dollar for you, and I want you to lock up the office, and tell anybody that wants to see me that I've been set upon, and sacked and a.s.sa.s.sinated in cold blood; and I've fled to my father's in the country, and am lying there in the convulsions of dissolution, babbling of green fields and running brooks, and thirsting for the life of every woman that comes in gunshot!" And then, more like a confirmed invalid than a man in the strength and pride of his prime, he crept down into the street again, and thence back to his hotel.

Dejectedly and painfully climbing to his room, he encountered, on the landing above, a little woman in a jaunty dusting-cap and a trim habit of crisp muslin. He tried to evade her, but in vain. She looked him squarely in the face--occasioning him the dubious impression of either needing shaving very badly, or having egg-stains on his chin.

"You're the gentleman in No. 11, I believe?" she said.

He nodded confusedly.

"Mr. McKinney is your name, I think?" she queried, with a pretty elevation of the eyebrows.

"Yes, ma'am," said John, rather abjectly. "You see, ma'am--But I beg pardon," he went on stammeringly, and with a very awkward bow--"I beg pardon, but I am addressing--ah--the--ah--the--"

"You are addressing the new landlady," she interpolated, pleasantly.

"Mrs. Miller is my name. I think we should be friends, Mr. McKinney, since I hear that you are one of the oldest patrons of the house."

"Thank you--thank you!" said John, completely embarra.s.sed. "Yes, indeed!--ha, ha. Oh, yes--yes--really, we must be quite old friends, I a.s.sure you, Mrs.--Mrs.--"

"Mrs. Miller," smilingly prompted the little woman.

"Yes, ah, yes,--Mrs. Miller. Lovely morning, Mrs. Miller," said John, edging past her and backing toward his room.

But as Mrs. Miller was laughing outright, for some mysterious reason, and gave no affirmation in response to his proposition as to the quality of the weather, John, utterly abashed and nonplussed, darted into his room and closed the door. "Deucedly extraordinary woman!" he thought; "wonder what's her idea!"

He remained locked in his room till the dinner-hour; and, when he promptly emerged for that occasion, there was a very noticeable improvement in his personal appearance, in point of dress, at least, though there still lingered about his smoothly-shaven features a certain haggard, care-worn, anxious look that would not out.

Next his own place at the table he found a chair tilted forward, as though in reservation for some honored guest. What did it mean? Oh, he remembered now. Told the boy to tell his mother he would have a friend to dine with him. Bert--and, blast the fellow! he was, doubtless, dining then with a far preferable companion--his wife--in a palace-car on the P., C. & St. L., a hundred miles away. The thought was maddening. Of course, now, the landlady would have material for a new a.s.sault. And how could he avert it? A despairing film blurred his sight for the moment--then the eyes flashed daringly. "I will meet it like a man!" he said, mentally--"like a State's Attorney,--I will invite it! Let her do her worst!"

He called a servant, directing some message in an undertone.

"Yes, sir," said the agreeable servant, "I'll go right away, sir," and left the room.

Five minutes elapsed, and then a voice at his shoulder startled him:

"Did you send for me, Mr. McKinney? What is it I can do?"

"You are very kind, Mrs.--Mrs.--"

"Mrs. Miller," said the lady, with a smile that he remembered.

"Now, please spare me even the mildest of rebukes. I deserve your censure, but I can't stand it--I can't positively!" and there was a pleading look in John's lifted eyes that changed the little woman's smile to an expression of real solicitude. "I have sent for you,"

continued John, "to ask of you three great favors. Please be seated while I enumerate them. First--I want you to forgive and forget that ill-natured, uncalled-for grumbling of mine this morning when you wakened me."

"Why, certainly," said the landlady, again smiling, though quite seriously.

"I thank you," said John, with dignity. "And, second," he continued--"I want your a.s.surance that my extreme confusion and awkwardness on the occasion of our meeting later were rightly interpreted."

"Certainly--certainly," said the landlady, with the kindliest sympathy.

"I am grateful--utterly," said John, with newer dignity. "And then,"

he went on,--after informing you that it is impossible for the best friend I have in the world to be with me at this hour, as intended, I want you to do me the very great honor of dining with me. Will you?"

"Why, certainly," said the charming little landlady--"and a thousand thanks beside! But tell me something of your friend," she continued, as they were being served. "What is he like--and what is his name--and where is he?"

"Well," said John, warily,--"he's like all young fellows of his age.

He's quite young, you know--not over thirty, I should say--a mere boy, in fact, but clever--talented--versatile."

"--Unmarried, of course," said the chatty little woman.

"Oh, yes!" said John, in a matter-of-course tone--but he caught himself abruptly--then stared intently at his napkin--glanced evasively at the side-face of his questioner, and said,--"Oh yes! Yes, indeed! He's unmarried.--Old bachelor like myself, you know. Ha! Ha!"

"So he's not like the young man here that distinguished himself last night?" said the little woman, archly.

The fork in John's hand, half-lifted to his lips, faltered and fell back toward his plate.

"Why, what's that?" said John, in a strange voice; "I hadn't heard anything about it--I mean I haven't heard anything about any young man. What was it?"

"Haven't heard anything about the elopement?" exclaimed the little woman, in astonishment.--"Why, it's been the talk of the town all morning. Elopement in high life--son of a grain-dealer, name of Hines, or Himes, or something, and a preacher's daughter--Josie somebody--didn't catch her last name. Wonder if you don't know the parties--Why, Mr. McKinney, are you ill?"

"Oh, no--not at all!" said John: "Don't mention it. Ha--ha! Just eating too rapidly, that's all. Go on with--you were saying that Bert and Josie had really eloped."

"What 'Bert'?" asked the little woman quickly.

"Why, did I say Bert?" said John, with a guilty look. "I meant Haines, of course, you know--Haines and Josie.--And did they really elope?"

"That's the report," answered the little woman, as though deliberating some important evidence; "and they say, too, that the plot of the runaway was quite ingenious. It seems the young lovers were a.s.sisted in their flight by some old fellow--friend of the young man's--Why, Mr. McKinney, you _are_ ill, surely?"

John's face was ashen.

"No--no!" he gasped, painfully: "Go on--go on! Tell me more about the--the--the old fellow--the old reprobate! And is he still at large?"

"Yes," said the little womon, anxiously regarding the strange demeanor of her companion. "They say, though, that the law can do nothing with him, and that this fact only intensifies the agony of the broken-hearted parents--for it seems they have, till now, regarded him both as a gentleman and family friend in whom"--

"I really am ill," moaned John, waveringly rising to his feet; "but I beg you not to be alarmed. Tell your little boy to come to my room, where I will retire at once, if you'll excuse me, and send for my physician. It is simply a nervous attack. I am often troubled so; and only perfect quiet and seclusion restores me. You have done me a great honor, Mrs."--("Mrs.--Miller," sighed the sympathetic little woman)--"Mrs. Miller,--and I thank you more than I have words to express." He bowed limply, turned through a side door opening on a stair, and tottered to his room.

During the three weeks' illness through which he pa.s.sed, John had every attention--much more, indeed, than he had consciousness to appreciate. For the most part his mind wandered, and he talked of curious things, and laughed hysterically, and serenaded mermaids that dwelt in gra.s.sy seas of dew, and were bald-headed like himself. He played upon a fourteen-jointed flute of solid gold, with diamond holes, and keys carved out of thawless ice. His old father came at first to take him home; but he could not be moved, the doctor said.

Two weeks of John's illness had worn away, when a very serious looking young man, in a traveling duster, and a high hat, came up the stairs to see him. A handsome young lady was clinging to his arm. It was Bert and Josie. She had guessed the very date of their forgiveness. John wakened even clearer in mind than usual that afternoon. He recognized his old chum at a glance, and Josie--now Bert's wife. Yes, he comprehended that. He was holding a hand of each when another figure entered. His thin, white fingers loosened their clasp, and he held a hand toward the new comer. "Here," he said, "is my best friend in the world--Bert, you and Josie will love her, I know; for this is Mrs.--Mrs."--"Mrs. Miller," said the radiant little woman.--"Yes,--Mrs. Miller," said John, very proudly.