English
ItwasjustthreedaysaftertheDoctorandtheAdmiralhadcongratulatedeachotherupontheclosertiewhichwastounitetheirtwofamilies,andtoturntheirfriendshipintosomethingevendearerandmoreintimate,thatMissIdaWalkerreceivedaletterwhichcausedhersomesurpriseandconsiderableamusement.
Itwasdatedfromnextdoor,andwashandedinbythered-headedpageafterbreakfast.
“DearMissIda,”beganthiscuriousdocument,andthenrelapsedsuddenlyintothethirdperson.
“Mr.CharlesWestmacotthopesthathemayhavetheextremepleasureofaridewithMissIdaWalkeruponhistandemtricycle.
Mr.CharlesWestmacottwillbringitroundinhalfanhour.Youinfront.Yoursverytruly,CharlesWestmacott.”
Thewholewaswritteninalarge,loose-jointed,andschool-boyishhand,verythinontheupstrokesandthickonthedown,asthoughcareandpainshadgonetothefashioningofit.
Strangeaswastheform,themeaningwasclearenough;soIdahastenedtoherroom,andhadhardlyslippedonherlightgreycyclingdresswhenshesawthetandemwithitslargeoccupantatthedoor.
Hehandedheruptohersaddlewithamoresolemnandthoughtfulfacethanwasusualwithhim,andafewmomentslatertheywereflyingalongthebeautiful,smoothsuburbanroadsinthedirectionofForestHill.
Thegreatlimbsoftheathletemadetheheavymachinespringandquiverwitheverystroke;whilethemignongreyfigurewiththelaughingface,andthegoldencurlsblowingfromunderthelittlepink-bandedstrawhat,simplyheldfirmlytoherperch,andletthetreadleswhirlroundbeneathherfeet.
Mileaftermiletheyflew,thewindbeatinginherface,thetreesdancingpastintwolongranksoneitherside,untiltheyhadpassedroundCroydonandwereapproachingNorwoodoncemorefromthefurtherside.
“Aren’tyoutired?”sheasked,glancingoverhershoulderandturningtowardshimalittlepinkear,afluffygoldencurl,andoneblueeyetwinklingfromtheverycornerofitslid.
“Notabit.Iamjustgettingmyswing.”
“Isn’titwonderfultobestrong?Youalwaysremindmeofasteamengine.”
“Whyasteamengine?”
“Well,becauseitissopowerful,andreliable,andunreasoning.Well,Ididn’tmeanthatlast,youknow,but—but—youknowwhatImean.Whatisthematterwithyou?”
“Why?”
“Becauseyouhavesomethingonyourmind.Youhavenotlaughedonce.”
Hebrokeintoagruesomelaugh.“Iamquitejolly,”saidhe.
“Oh,no,youarenot.Andwhydidyouwritemesuchadreadfullystiffletter?”
“Therenow,”hecried,“Iwassureitwasstiff.Isaiditwasabsurdlystiff.”
“Thenwhywriteit?”
“Itwasn’tmyowncomposition.”
“Whosethen?Youraunt’s?”
“Oh,no.ItwasapersonofthenameofSlattery.”
“Goodness!Whoishe?”
“Iknewitwouldcomeout,Ifeltthatitwould.You’veheardofSlatterytheauthor?”
“Never.”
“Heiswonderfulatexpressinghimself.Hewroteabookcalled‘TheSecretSolved;or,Letter-writingMadeEasy.’Itgivesyoumodelsofallsortsofletters.”
Idaburstoutlaughing.“Soyouactuallycopiedone.”
apictureofthecountryside
“Itwastoinviteayoungladytoapicnic,butIsettoworkandsoongotitchangedsothatitwoulddoverywell.
Slatteryseemsnevertohaveaskedanyonetorideatandem.
ButwhenIhadwrittenit,itseemedsodreadfullystiffthatIhadtoputalittlebeginningandendofmyown,whichseemedtobrightenitupagooddeal.”
“Ithoughttherewassomethingfunnyaboutthebeginningandend.”
“Didyou?Fancyyournoticingthedifferenceinstyle.Howquickyouare!Iamveryslowatthingslikethat.
Ioughttohavebeenawoodman,orgame-keeper,orsomething.Iwasmadeonthoselines.ButIhavefoundsomethingnow.”
“Whatisthat,then?”
“Ranching.IhaveachuminTexas,andhesaysitisararelife.Iamtobuyashareinhisbusiness.
Itisallintheopenair—shooting,andriding,andsport.
Wouldit—woulditinconvenienceyoumuch,Ida,tocomeouttherewithme?”
Idanearlyfelloffherperchinheramazement.Theonlywordsofwhichshecouldthinkwere“Mygoodnessme!”soshesaidthem.
“Ifitwouldnotupsetyourplans,orchangeyourarrangementsinanyway.”
Hehadsloweddownandletgoofthesteeringhandle,sothatthegreatmachinecrawledaimlesslyaboutfromonesideoftheroadtotheother.
“IknowverywellthatIamnotcleveroranythingofthatsort,butstillIwoulddoallIcantomakeyouveryhappy.
Don’tyouthinkthatintimeyoumightcometolikemealittlebit?”
Idagaveacryoffright.“Iwon’tlikeyouifyourunmeagainstabrickwall,”shesaid,asthemachineraspedupagainstthecurb“Doattendtothesteering.”
“Yes,Iwill.Buttellme,Ida,whetheryouwillcomewithme.”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.It’stooabsurd!HowcanwetalkaboutsuchthingswhenIcannotseeyou?Youspeaktothenapeofmyneck,andthenIhavetotwistmyheadroundtoanswer.”
“Iknow.ThatwaswhyIput‘Youinfront’uponmyletter.Ithoughtthatitwouldmakeiteasier.ButifyouwouldpreferitIwillstopthemachine,andthenyoucansitroundandtalkaboutit.”
“Goodgracious!”criedIda.“Fancyoursittingfacetofaceonamotionlesstricycleinthemiddleoftheroad,andallthepeoplelookingoutoftheirwindowsatus!”
“Itwouldlookratherfunny,wouldn’tit?Well,then,supposethatwebothgetoffandpushthetandemalonginfrontofus?”
“Oh,no,thisisbetterthanthat.”
“OrIcouldcarrythething.”
Idaburstoutlaughing.“Thatwouldbemoreabsurdstill.”
“Thenwewillgoquietly,andIwilllookoutforthesteering.
Iwon’ttalkaboutitatallifyouwouldrathernot.
ButIreallydoloveyouverymuch,andyouwouldmakemehappyifyoucametoTexaswithme,andIthinkthatperhapsafteratimeIcouldmakeyouhappytoo.”
“Butyouraunt?”
“Oh,shewouldlikeitverymuch.Icanunderstandthatyourfathermightnotliketoloseyou.
I’msureIwouldn’teither,ifIwerehe.
Butafterall,Americaisnotveryfaroffnowadays,andisnotsoverywild.
Wewouldtakeagrandpiano,and—and—acopyofBrowning.
AndDenverandhiswifewouldcomeovertoseeus.Weshouldbequiteafamilyparty.Itwouldbejolly.”
Idasatlisteningtothestumblingwordsandawkwardphraseswhichwerewhisperedfromthebackofher,buttherewassomethinginCharlesWestmacott’sclumsinessofspeechwhichwasmoremovingthanthewordsofthemosteloquentofpleaders.
Hepaused,hestammered,hecaughthisbreathbetweenthewords,andheblurtedoutinlittlebluntphrasesallthehopesofhisheart.
Iflovehadnotcometoheryet,therewasatleastpityandsympathy,whicharenearlyakintoit.
Wondertherewasalsothatonesoweakandfrailassheshouldshakethisstrongmanso,shouldhavethewholecourseofhislifewaitingforherdecision.
Herlefthandwasonthecushionatherside.
Heleanedforwardandtookitgentlyinhisown.
Shedidnottrytodrawitbackfromhim.
“MayIhaveit,”saidhe,“forlife?”
“Oh,doattendtoyoursteering,”saidshe,smilingroundathim;“anddon’tsayanymoreaboutthisto-day.Pleasedon’t!”
“WhenshallIknow,then?”
“Oh,to-night,to-morrow,Idon’tknow.ImustaskClara.Talkaboutsomethingelse.”
Andtheydidtalkaboutsomethingelse;butherlefthandwasstillenclosedinhis,andheknew,withoutaskingagain,thatallwaswell.
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