Part 4

"Oh, I feel as though New York were the proper place. I think it is the general feeling that it would be a risk to trust a matter like that to Chicago. There has been a very clever cartoon published recently in New York, showing our principal cities represented as pretty women standing in a semicircle around Uncle Sam waiting to see which shall receive a bouquet which he holds in his hands labeled 'World's Fair,'--that is, they are all pretty women except Chicago, who is a half-grown, scrawny girl, arrayed in an evening gown covered with a pattern of little pigs. She has huge diamonds blazing in her breast and ears, her thin arms are bare, and the hands she wildly stretches out to Uncle Sam wear white kid gloves with one button at the wrist. Her mouth is wide open, and she is evidently vociferously demanding the prize, while New York, a beautiful society girl, gazes at her with well-bred scorn. For my own part, I think New York may overdo the nonchalant business, and if she does, the energetic maiden stands a good chance to gain her end."

"How do you suppose your cousin Jack likes to have his city made such game of?" asked Miss Lovina.

"Oh, I fancy Jack has learned by this time to view the Garden City from a Bostonian standpoint. I don't know what his views are on the subject of the Fair. I have seen very little of him the last years."

"You are liable to make up for it in the year to come," said a new voice suddenly.

Blitzen had already run growling toward a window, and now barked furiously as Jack Van Tassel walked into the room and Miss Lovina and her guest sprang to their feet.

"Forgive the intrusion," added the new-comer, in the handshaking that ensued. "I looked through the window and saw you sitting here so comfortably, I thought it a pity to make you the trouble of coming to the door. Aunt Love, how are you? You didn't expect to see me here, Gorham?"

"Where have you dropped from? You were in Chicago day before yesterday," rejoined his cousin.

"I don't deny it. Thank you, Aunt Love. I used to like this rocking chair when my feet wouldn't touch the floor as I sat in it. What do I see? If there isn't the cookie box!"

"Yes, and you're in great luck to come as soon as you have, for I was just meditating another onslaught upon it."

"Well, if you two great boys ain't as bad as you ever were!" exclaimed Miss Berry in high delight, as she hastened to bring forth the currant wine again for the delectation of her new guest.

"Perhaps you will explain yourself," remarked Page curiously, hospitably reaching out the tin box and meanwhile making attempts to hold Blitzen off with his foot; an effort which met the success attendant on similar treatment of quicksilver.

"Why, I've come to see Aunt Love," responded Jack. "Why shouldn't I?"

Miss Berry looked at his brilliant, graceful face and figure admiringly. "Why not, indeed?" she said, laughing. "I was always good to you, wasn't I, Mr. Jack?"

"Too good. Far too good. I remember everything."

"That is all very well; but why did you bid me a long farewell a week ago, and then turn around and come back again?" persisted Page.

Jack tossed off a glass of wine. "Better than ever!" he exclaimed, sending Miss Berry one of the caressing, admiring looks which warmed any feminine heart toward which they were directed. Then he turned to his cousin. "Because, my dear Gorham, I have repented of my rejection of your offer, and after I've talked over old times sufficiently with Aunt Love, it is my intention to accompany you to Germany. Do you accept my apology?"

"Good enough," commented Page briefly, but with evident satisfaction. "Your decision must have been sudden, though. What was the matter? Did Chicago grate upon your aesthetic sense in her scramble for the Fair?"

"She isn't scrambling, that I know of. She doesn't need to. She'll get the Fair all right. Any one can see with half an eye that Chicago is the only place for it,--the foreordained place."

Page laughed quietly and skeptically, and there followed one of the arguments of which every American citizen knows the pros and cons.

That night Miss Berry put her unexpected guests into two bedrooms which communicated. When her last good wishes for their comfort had been expressed and good-nights said, the two men looked at each other as they listened to her retreating footsteps.

"Of course," said Page, "if the explanation you gave me downstairs is all you care to say, I'm satisfied."

The brightness had faded from Van Tassel's face. He looked moody and worn.

"No, I meant to tell you, of course," he answered, seating himself on the side of the bed. "I found when I reached home that father had assumed charge of an orphan asylum, and I thought I should be better off out of the way."

"What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I say. He is going to marry the eldest member, in order to facilitate matters."

"Uncle Richard is going to marry again, and you have quarreled with him?"

Jack shook his head quickly. "I don't quarrel with father," he replied briefly.

Page sat down in a blue chintz armchair by the window and pushed open the blind; then recollecting that one of Aunt Love's last warnings had been not to do so on account of mosquitoes, he closed it again.

"Uncle Richard has been a widower for fifteen years," he said. "He is scarcely over fifty years old. Aren't you unreasonable to resent his marrying?"

Van Tassel, his sombre eyes fixed on the palm-leaves in the ingrain carpet, emitted an inarticulate sound.

"What more appropriate," continued his cousin, "than that he should select a widow, even supposing she has children. He has plenty of money. I can see how it would make you feel sore and change your home feeling at first; but Uncle Richard has such a level head, you may be certain that the lady is such a one as you will like after a time."

Jack gave a short, unmirthful laugh. "The lady hasn't any children. What a pity you can't see her! She is a little girl who went to school with me at home; and she has an invalid mother, some younger sisters, and a brother on her hands."

Page raised his heavy eyebrows and gave a soft whistle.

"As they have nothing in the world, they have roped father in."

"That's bad!" admitted the older man with some sympathetic disgust. "Then you have quarreled with Uncle Richard, for of course you attempted to dissuade him."

"Not at all. I arrived home to find the engagement a fixed fact and all the parties satisfied. What was there to be done?"

"You didn't come away without saying anything?"

"No, no. I wouldn't do that, and I believe that in place of anything else to be proud of, I shall always be proud of having had some self-control in that last interview with father. I knew all the time, hot and angry as I was, that if I said to him what I felt, I should repent of hurting him all my life. He is the noblest man, the best father, that ever lived." The speaker's eyes grew bright, and Page believed it was with moisture.

"I'm glad to hear you say that," he rejoined heartily. "You are right, I know. Uncle Richard is one man in a thousand, and it would be easy enough to believe that even a young girl might feel a deep and romantic attachment for him."

Van Tassel shook his head. "You are all off again. Say all you like in praise of father, but"--

"But why be prejudiced?" suggested Page hopefully. "This Miss--Miss"--

"Bryant."

"Why should you, on the circumstantial evidence of her family's need, decide that she is only mercenary? Perhaps she loves"--

"And perhaps she doesn't," interrupted Jack impatiently. "She says she doesn't."

"What?"

"Yes, Clover is a very honest girl, and she was good enough to inform me of the neutral state of her affections."

"Well, well! I must say Uncle Richard is beginning to puzzle me. He has seen this girl grow up. Is she so irresistibly beautiful?"

"What an idea! No. My father puzzles me too, I assure you, but I must believe he loves her, and in the face of that, Gorham," Van Tassel looked up with strong feeling in face and voice, "that dear old fellow made sure that he wouldn't be interfering with me before he spoke to her. He came to me just before leaving Cambridge, and asked me if I cared for her. Of course I didn't suspect anything. It seemed only a consistent carrying out of the desire he has always had to anticipate my every wish. He urged nothing, but persisted gently till he discovered what he was after; and I tell you it touches me--in the light of present circumstances it touches me to think about it. He would have given up his wishes; no one would ever have been allowed to suspect them, had they conflicted with mine." The speaker rose, crossed the room, and stood with his back to his cousin, while he regarded the antlered cows in a framed sampler executed by Miss Lovina's mother.

"No wonder you are glad that you said nothing offensive at parting," remarked Page.

"Yes," replied Jack, turning back. "I have been in twenty different minds since taking the train for Boston, as to whether I do right or wrong to go to Europe now. Very few words passed between father and me about it. I had some hours to think before meeting him, after learning what he had done, and I merely told him that Clover had told me of their engagement. He looked right at me and he understands me pretty well. 'Does it displease you, Jack?' he asked. 'It surprises me, sir,' I answered, 'and it makes me feel that while matters are in the transition state which is coming, I might perhaps as well put in that year abroad you spoke of.' He was silent for a minute, and I knew that, try as I might, I couldn't mislead him much as to my feelings, so I braced up and spoke as naturally as I could, about how deeply I desired his happiness, and said that if my staying at home would conduce to it, I would stay. He thought a minute more, and then he said as quietly as he always says everything, 'You had better go, Jack.'"

The speaker paid one more visit to the sampler with its angular green trees.

After a minute Page broke the silence: "I believe you have decided wisely. I believe you had better come with me."

*CHAPTER VII.*

*ON THE RAIL.*

The following week the two sailed for Germany; but when home-coming time for Page arrived, his cousin did not accompany him. Mr. Van Tassel had married the month after his son left, and although his affectionate letters held out an invariable welcome, they made it easy for Jack to stay amid the novel scenes which allured him. Gorham Page, therefore, was alone when he reentered Boston, one day in the following August. The sister-in-law with whom he made his home was, he knew, at the seashore, and after a brief visit to her deserted flat, and a hasty repacking, he took a cab for the Boston and Maine depot.

He was rather late for his train, and he boarded it to find it crowded. Passing from one car to another in vain search for a seat, he descried, standing in an aisle, a tall young girl, who attracted his attention at once, by reason of her superb figure fashionably clothed in plainest black, and the annoyance on her fresh face. She held a satchel in her hand, and was vainly endeavoring to appear indifferent, after a heated appeal to a badgered conductor who had apparently sought relief from a suffering public in deafness.

When Page, who was slightly short-sighted, approached near enough to discern the impatient golden lights in her hazel eyes, and the underlip caught beneath her teeth, he took in the situation, and gave one more searching glance around the crowded day-car; the parlor car he had already discovered to be hopeless.

"This is very uncomfortable," he said, addressing the girl and raising his hat. "I have not quite despaired of finding a seat. Won't you follow me?"

"I have been all through," she answered, but she followed him.

The next car was packed with equal solidity; but Page moved forward, and on the platform was motioned away by a brakeman.

"Back, please. Next car's a sleeper. Takin' it to Portland. No passengers."

"Is it locked?" asked Page, pushing by.

"No, 't ain't locked, but"--

Page interrupted the slow drawl decidedly, and put aside the detaining hand. "Oh, well, people can't stand, you know," and with an encouraging look around at the damsel in distress, who followed him with alacrity, he opened the door of the Pullman, and ushered her into the luxurious empty car.

"Thank you so much," said the girl gratefully, as she took possession of one section and her benefactor seated himself across the way.

One by one a dozen other passengers came in and availed themselves of this unexpected privilege, and the pessimistic conductor contented himself by collecting fifty cents from each individual.

Page had an eye for beauty, and as his position made it possible to do so undetected, he regarded his neighbor appreciatively. The world is full of pretty girls, thank heaven, but this one was unusual inasmuch as she was built on such large lines as to make approval a matter of taste. Page did approve. He mentally called her a young Juno as he regarded her flat back and fine shoulders, her clear healthy skin and the Cupid's bow of her upper lip. Her thick brown hair was uncrimped and smoothly brushed toward the coil at the back of her head. She was what is called in the parlance of the day a tailor-made girl, and her physique suggested rowing and tennis.

Page thought this, and wished he had an excuse to speak with her. The fact that he had happened to do her a slight favor made this more than usually impossible, so after a while he abandoned his regard of her piquant profile, in favor of the landscape from his own window.

About now the conversation between two men in the section behind this _fin de siecle_ maiden became loud enough to take half the car into their confidence. They were discussing the incongruous situation of the World's Fair; for in the previous April Uncle Sam had yielded, and thrown his bouquet to that one of his daughters which, according to the cartoonist, had clamored and importuned the loudest. The crude, unformed, ill-bred creature now had this treasure in her keeping, and the righteous indignation and despair of those two New Hampshire men filled the car. What could be expected but national disgrace? What was the matter with the powers at Washington that they had not in some way averted such a disaster? A good many people thought it a joke; these gentlemen could see nothing amusing in having our country held up to ridicule.

As the discussion waxed and waned, Page listened to it perforce, at first indifferently, then with more interest as he discovered that it was affecting his fair neighbor. He could see her cheek grow hot, could see that she held herself with greater rigidity. She bit her lip from time to time, and once she moved her head slowly around as if inclined to glance at the noisy talkers; but half way her deep luminous eyes shot their golden lightning straight into Page's, and recovering herself she turned back and looked ahead again.

The sunshine had begun to pour in at her window, and she suddenly seized the blind to pull it down. It fitted tightly after the manner of its kind, and her first effort was not successful. It was probably not a case for assistance, as the young woman looked as though her muscle would be equal to considerable strain, but Page spontaneously left his seat.

"Allow me," he said, and drew the blind down.

The girl thanked him rather severely. Page's shipboard experience of comparative informality with strangers was fresh upon him. He spoke on the impulse of the moment, feeling sure that the severity was not intended for him.

"Wouldn't you prefer to change seats with me? Perhaps you would be less annoyed there by conversation as well as sunlight."

"You heard something of it, then," the girl exclaimed; "but I think they have said all the ignorant, stupid things they can think of."

"I saw that the remarks were troubling you," said Page, seating himself opposite in her section. "The Garden City has one champion, I'm sure."

"Dear, generous Chicago!" ejaculated the girl, and her youthful wrath was very entertaining to her neighbor. "It is the best thing that ever happened to the country that we are to have the Fair. Perhaps," with interest, "you are a Chicagoan?"

Page was obliged to deny this with a novel reluctance which amused him.

The girl gave the slightest toss of her head. "I suppose the Eastern people think we enjoy the prospect of being jostled, and crowded, and having our streets torn up and our city extended, and all our comfort taken away for two years while we live in a perfect Pandemonium. No. We do not enjoy it, but we do it as our duty because we know that we can and shall do it well. It is not best to trust such an enterprise to an old, slow town."

Page regarded the speaker with curiosity and interest. She spoke softly but emphatically in a contralto voice, and did not look at him, but beyond him. It occurred to her companion that with her superb vitality and unconscious audacity she might be a truer type of the triumphant young city than that shown in the cleverly insulting picture which had so tickled his imagination.

"I see you take a strong interest in the matter," he remarked.

"Yes. My sister's husband has been busy about it from the first; so I have heard much concerning the subject; but then all Chicagoans are interested. It is their way."

The evident pride with which the girl referred to this "way" caused Page to declare meekly, as a means of raising himself in her estimation, that he had relatives in Chicago.

"That will be very pleasant for you in '93," she returned, with a slight smile which made her face bewitching.

"I have been spending the last year with a Chicago cousin in Germany," continued Page. "He has taken a warm interest in every phase of the discussion."

"Naturally," returned the girl; then having relieved her surcharged heart she apparently recollected that she was prolonging an interview with a strange man, and leaning back in her seat she took a copy of "Life" from her satchel. Fine streaks of sunshine sifted across the sheet.

"Won't you accept that shady seat?" asked Page.

"Thank you, no. I am only going as far as R-----."

"That is my destination, too. You might as well be comfortable."

The girl looked up again with some interest.

"Are you going to R-----? Then I shall ask you to be kind enough to direct me to the Ocean House. I am afraid that there has been a misunderstanding, and that Mrs. Page--that the friend whom I am going to visit does not expect me this morning."

The young man regarded her with a new expectancy. "I am going to the Ocean House also, and, by another coincidence, to see a Mrs. Page. She is my sister."

His neighbor returned his gaze at first with surprise, then a demure spirit of mischief danced in her eyes. It had a brief struggle with cautious propriety, but it conquered. Caution usually did make a losing fight in the case of this young lady.

"I wonder if you can be Gorham," she said slowly, and Page flushed to his temples under the fascination of his own name.

"I am," he laughed.

"I know a lot about you," declared the girl quietly, and her companion thought the dip in her upper lip when she smiled the prettiest thing he had ever seen.

"That is unfair," he returned, "for I know absolutely nothing about you."

"Very likely. Your sister only came to Pearfield three weeks ago."

"Pearfield? Have you been at Pearfield? How strange!"

"Oh, it is very simple. My sister's husband was not well,--he was all tired out with the Fair business, and one thing and another, and the doctor frightened him into thinking he must have absolute rest; so he bethought him of this little village and Aunt Love. Of course you know Aunt Love? She is one of your stanchest admirers. I am not at all sure that when you take your hat off I shan't see a little halo clinging to your locks."

"Oh, come now. That is too bad."

"Well, we went there the middle of June, and we have been there ever since. Three weeks ago, as I said, your sister came up--or your sister-in-law, isn't she?"

"Yes, but all the sister I have, so I claim her."

"I should think you would. She is lovely. She and Blitzen have been the bright spots in my summer."

"Oh, of course, Blitzen. I had forgotten him."

"He is delightful. So sympathetic! Our temperaments are just alike."

Page listened with interest. He could imagine the small dog and this young woman in a romp. He could picture her, and he liked to, in a light cambric gown, going at evening with Blitzen up into the pasture to get the cow.

"Aunt Love has given him to me," continued the girl complacently.

Her companion smiled reminiscently.

"What does Blitzen say to the transfer?" he asked.

"I sometimes suspect he doesn't know it," she returned seriously. "I mention it to him every day, though. Mr. Van Tassel laughs at me, and says that I needn't expect to take the dog,--that Blitzen thinks I'm a humbug."

Page was not listening. "Mr. Van Tassel?" he repeated in blank surprise.

"Yes. Didn't I say? Excuse me. He is my sister's husband--and your uncle. I forgot that. The dearest man that ever lived."

Page felt staggered, and confusedly afraid that he should show the shock he felt. His eyes fell. This was one of that obscure family who had "roped Uncle Richard in." Like lightning there flashed across his mind the consideration that beauty had made his uncle weak.

"Yes--ahem"--he stammered, for he feared it might have been long that he had sat there dazed. "I'm sorry to hear that my uncle is ailing. Jack--his son knows nothing of it."

"No; it is Mr. Van Tassel's wish that his son should not be informed of his indisposition." The girl's reply sounded curiously stilted in contrast to her previous ease of manner. Page blamed himself for the new coldness.

"Just like his unselfishness, isn't it?" he returned cordially. "I can't help thinking how surprised Hilda will be to see me appear with you. She does not know when to expect me."

Mrs. Page was indeed surprised when the train stopped at R----, and she stood on the platform and beheld her brother and her guest leave the car together. She was a vivacious little woman with a trim figure, and keen blue eyes that looked out beneath her sailor hat, full of lively interest in everything and everybody. She pounced upon the pair, and kissed them both with enthusiasm.

"How perfectly delightful!" she exclaimed. "I couldn't help worrying a little about you, Miss Bryant." ("Oh yes, Bryant was the name," thought Page.) "I knew you were not familiar with Boston, and although I had given you such detailed directions, I should have been frantic if you hadn't come out of the car just when you did. Gorham, how did you happen to find her? Did you go out to Pearfield? How is Uncle Richard, Miss Bryant? There, Gorham, don't let that stage go without us. Not the white one, the yellow. Is there room for three?"

When they were in the stage that was to take them to the hotel, these queries and many more were answered before the long extent of surf came in sight, vividly blue beyond the firm white shore on which a foamy lacework melted.

Mrs. Page ensconced her guest in a pleasant room near her own, and then returned to her own quarters with an impatient hope that her brother would seek her there. She had not long to wait, and she welcomed him eagerly.

"What do you think of my new acquisition?" she asked, as she gave him a seat that commanded the ocean, and took one near by.

"I was greatly surprised."

"I thought you would be," said Hilda triumphantly; "but what do you think of her? Isn't she handsome?"

"Very," answered Page, looking dreamily out upon the water.

"Haven't you fallen in love with her, you wooden man?"