The Spread Eagle and Other Stories Part 18

"I've been wondering, ma'am, if you are dressed in black for your father or your husband."

She looked up, recognized the famous eccentric, and smiled.

"Won't you sit down, Mr. Holiday?" she said, and made room for him.

"I wear black," she said, when he had seated himself, "not because I am in mourning for anybody, but because I think it's becoming to me. You see, I have very light-colored hair."

"Does all that hair grow on your head?" Mr. Holiday asked, simply and without offence.

"Every bit of it," she said.

"I have a splendid head of hair, too," he commented. "But there's a young man in the car back of this who'll be twenty-two years of age in February, and he's got more dandruff than hair. Where are you going?"

"Cleveland."

"Is that your home?"

"No. I'm a bird of pa.s.sage."

"What is your name?"

"I am Miss Hampton," she said, and she hoped that he might have heard of her. But he hadn't. And she explained herself. "I'm to play at the Euclid Theatre Christmas night."

"An actor?" he said.

"Well," she admitted, "some say so, and some won't hear of it."

"How much money do you earn?"

"Two hundred dollars a week."

Mr. Holiday wrote that in his note-book.

"I've got some little nieces and nephews in New York," she volunteered.

"Don't you think it's hard to be a genuine aunt and to have to spend Christmas alone in a strange place?"

"Not for two hundred dollars a week," said Mr. Holiday unsympathetically. "You ought to thank your stars and garters."

Presently, after patting her on the back with two fingers, he rose, bowed, and pa.s.sed on down the aisle. On the right, in the end section, was a very old couple, with snow-white hair, and a great deal of old-fas.h.i.+oned luggage. Mr. Holiday greeted them cordially, and asked their ages. The old gentleman was seventy-six and proud of it; the old lady was seventy. Mr. Holiday informed them that he was eighty, but that they were probably the next oldest people on the train. Anyway, he would find out and let them know. They smiled good-naturedly, and the old lady cuddled a little against the old gentleman, for it was cold in that car.

Mr. Holiday turned abruptly.

"I forgot to ask you where you are going?" he said.

They told him that they were going to spend Christmas with their daughter and son-in-law and the new baby in Cleveland. It was a long journey. But the season made them feel young and strong. Did Mr. Holiday think there was any danger of being delayed by the snow? It was coming down very fast. They could not remember ever to have been in a sleeping-car when it was snowing so hard outside. Mr. Holiday said that he would ask the conductor about the snow, and let them know.

In the smoking compartment of the next car forward sat a very young man, all alone. He looked at once sulky and frightened. He wasn't smoking, but was drumming on the window sill with his finger nails. He had a gardenia in his b.u.t.ton-hole, and was dressed evidently in his very best suit--a handsome dark gray, over a malaga-grape-colored waistcoat. In his necktie was a diamond horseshoe pin.

"Young man," said Mr. Holiday, seating himself, "what makes you look so cross?"

The young man started to say, "None of your business," but perceived in time the eager face and snow-white hair of his questioner, and checked himself.

"Why," he said tolerantly, "do I look as savage as all that?"

"It isn't money troubles," said Mr. Holiday, "or you would have p.a.w.ned that diamond pin."

"Wouldn't you be cross," said the young man, "if you had to look forward to sitting up all night in a cold smoking compartment?"

"Can't you get a berth?"

"I had a drawing-room," said the young man, "but at the last minute I had to give it up to a lady."

Mr. Holiday's eyes twinkled with benign interest. He had connected the gardenia in the young man's coat with the roses of the girl who was weeping.

"I know," he said, "drawing-room, Car 5. She was crying, but I told her to brace up, and I guess she's stopped."

The young man jumped to his feet.

"Oh!" he said.

Mr. Holiday chuckled.

"I was right," he said. "I've been right seven times out of the ten for twenty-five years. I've kept a record."

Upon an impulse the young man checked his headlong inclination to rush to the girl who was weeping.

"If you are right as often as that," he said, "for G.o.d's sake tell me what to do."

"Certainly," said Mr. Holiday, "and it won't cost you a cent. What's the matter?"

"_She_" said the young man with an accent, for there was but the one, "came to the station to see me off. She gave me this." He touched the gardenia gently. "I gave her some roses. Just as the train started to pull out I dared her to come with me ... she came!"

"Tut--tut!" said Mr. Holiday.

"What are we to do?" cried the young man.

"Go back and sit with her," said Mr. Holiday, "and leave the door wide open. I'm going through the train now to see who's on board; so don't worry. Leave it all to me."

The last car forward before you came to the baggage-car and the express car was a common day coach. It was draughty. It had been used as a smoker in a period not so very remote. A dog must have pa.s.sed an uncomfortable night in it.

Near the rear door sat a man in a new derby hat and a new black coat.

Further forward on the same side three children had stuffed themselves into one seat. The middle child, a well-grown girl of thirteen or fourteen, seemed by her superior height to shelter the little tots at her side. Only the blue imitation sailor caps of these appeared above the top of the seat; and the top of each cap, including that worn by the older girl, had a centrepiece of white about the size of a gentleman's visiting card. Mr. Holiday promised himself the pleasure of investigating these later. In the meanwhile his interest was excited by the ears of the man in the new derby. They were not large, but they had an appearance of sticking out further than was necessary; and Mr.

Holiday was about to ask their owner the reason why, when he noticed for himself that it was because the owner's hair had been cut so very, very short. Indeed, he had little gray eighth-inch bristles instead of hair.

Mr. Holiday wondered why. He seated himself behind the man, and leaned forward. The man stirred uneasily.

"I should think you'd be afraid of catching cold in this draughty car with your hair cut so short," said Mr. Holiday.

"I am," said the man tersely.