Chapter 18

"She will doubtless give herself that pleasure later," said Locker.

"No," said she, "she will not think any more about it. I am of no further use. And may I ask if you know anything about the two other gentlemen?"

"Both turned down," said Locker.

"I might have supposed that," answered the lady; "for if Miss Asher would not take you she certainly would not be content with either of them."

"With all my heart I thank you," said Locker warmly. "Such words are welcome to a wounded heart."

For a moment Miss Raleigh was silent, then she remarked, "It is very hard to be discarded."

"You are right there!" exclaimed Locker. "But how do you happen to know anything about it?"

"I have been discarded myself," she answered.

The larger eye of Mr. Locker grew still larger, the other endeavored to emulate its companion's size; and his mouth became a rounded opening. "Discarded?" he cried.

"Yes," said she.

The countenance of the young man was now bright with interest and curiosity. "I don't suppose it would be right to ask you," said he, "even although I have taken you so completely into my confidence--but, never mind. Don't think of it. Of course, I would not propose such a question."

"Of course not," said she, "you are too manly for that." And then she was silent again. Naturally she hesitated to reveal the secrets of her heart, and to a gentleman with whom her acquaintance was of such recent date; but she earnestly wanted to repose confidence in another, as well as to receive it, and it was so seldom, so very seldom, that such an opportunity came to her.

"I do not know," she said, "that I ought to, but still--"

"Oh, don't, if you don't want to," said Locker.

"But I think I do want to," she replied. "You are so kind, so good, and you have confided in me. Yes, I was once discarded, not exactly by word of mouth, or even by message, but still discarded."

"A stranger to me, of course," said Locker, his whole form twisting itself into an interrogation-point.

"No," said she, "and as I have begun I will go on. It was Mr. Hemphill."

"What!" he exclaimed. "That--"

"Yes, it was he," said she, speaking slowly, and in a low voice. "He was Mr. Easterfield's secretary and I was Mrs. Easterfield's secretary, and, of course, we were thrown much together. He has very good qualities; I do not hesitate now to say that; and they impressed themselves upon me. In every possible way I endeavored to make things pleasant for him. I do not believe that when he was at work he ever wanted a glass of cold water that he did not find it within reach. I early discovered that he was very fond of cold water."

"A most commendable dissipation," interrupted Locker.

"He had no dissipations," said Miss Raleigh. "His character was unimpeachable. In very many ways I was attracted to him, in very many ways I endeavored to make life pleasant for him; and I am afraid that sometimes I neglected Mrs. Easterfield's interests so that I might do little things for him, such as dusting, keeping his ink-pots full, providing fresh blotting-paper, and many other trifling services which devotion readily suggested."

Locker heaved a sigh of commiseration which she mistook for one of sympathy.

"I will not go into particulars," she continued, "but at last he discovered that--well, I will be plain with you--he discovered that I loved him. Then, sir--it is humiliating to me to say it, but I will not flinch--he discarded me. He did not use words, but his manner was sufficient. Never again did I go near his desk, never did I tender him the slightest service. It was a terrible blow! It was humiliating"

"I should think so," said Locker, "from him"

"But I will say no more," she remarked with a sigh. "I have told you what you have heard that you may understand how thoroughly I sympathize with you, for all is over with me in that direction, as I suppose all is over with you in your direction. And now I must go, for this long conference may be remarked. But before I go, I will say that if ever you--"

"Oh, no, no, no!" interrupted Locker, "it would not do at all! I really have begun to believe that I was cut out for a bachelor."

"What!" said Miss Raleigh, with great severity. "Do you suppose, sir, that I--"

"Not at all, not at all" cried Locker. "Not for one moment do I suppose that you--"

"If for one moment," said she, "I had imagined you would suppose--"

"But I assure you, Miss Raleigh, I never did suppose that you would imagine I would think--but if you do suppose I thought you imagined I could possibly conceive--"

"But I really did think," said Miss Raleigh, speaking more gently. "But if I was wrong--"

"Nay, think no more about it," Locker interrupted, "and let us be friends again."

He offered her his hand, which she shook warmly, and then departed.

It had been arranged that Lancaster was not to leave Broadstone on the next day. He had expected to do so, but Mr. Easterfield had planned for a day's fishing for himself, Mr. Fox, and the professor, and he would not let the latter off. The ladies had accepted an invitation to luncheon that day; the next day some new visitors were expected; and in order not to interfere with Mr. Easterfield's plans, evidently intended to restore to Broadstone some of the social harmony which had recently been so disturbed, Dick consented to stay, although he really wanted to go. He could not forget that his vacation was passing.

"Very well, then," Mrs. Easterfield remarked to him that Sunday evening, "if you must go on Tuesday, I suppose you must, although I think it would be better for you if I were to keep my eye on you for a little while longer."

"Perhaps so," said Lancaster, "but the time has come when curb-bits, cages, and good advice are not for me. I must burst loose from everything and go my way, right or wrong, whatever it may be."

"I see that," said she; "but if it had not been for the curbed bit and all that, you would be leaving this place a discarded lover, like the rest of them. They depart with their love-affairs finished forever, ended; you go as free to woo, to win, or to lose as you ever were. And you owe this entirely to me, so whatever else you do, don't sneer at my curbs and my cages; to them you owe your liberty."

The professor fully appreciated everything she had done for him, and told her so earnestly and warmly. But she interrupted his grateful expressions.

"It would have been very hard on me," she said, "if Olive had asked me to carry to you the news of your rejection. That is what I did for the others, I suppose you know."

"Oh, yes," said Lancaster; "Locker told me."

"I might have supposed that," said she. "And now I feel bound to tell you also, although it is not a message, that Olive does not expect to see you at her uncle's house. She infers that you are going to continue your vacation journey."

"I have made my plans for my journey," said he, "and I do not think, Mrs. Easterfield, that you will care to have me talk them over with you."

"No, indeed," she replied; "I do not want to hear a word about them, but I am going to give you one piece of advice, whether you like it or not. Don't be in a hurry to ask her to marry you. At this moment she does not want to marry anybody. Her position has entirely changed. She wanted to marry so that her plans might be settled before her father and his new wife arrive; and now she considers that they are settled. So be careful. It is true that the objections she formerly had to you are removed, but before you ask her to marry you, you should seriously ask yourself what reason there is she should do so. She does not know you very well; she is not interested in you; and I am very sure she is not in love with you. Now you know, for I have told you so, that I would be delighted to see you two married. I believe you would suit each other admirably, but although you may agree with me in this opinion, I am quite sure she does not; at least, not yet. Now, this is all I am going to say, except that you have my very best wishes that you may get her."

"I shall never forget that," said he, "but I see I am not to be free from the memory, at least, of the curb and the cage."

After breakfast on Monday the three discarded lovers departed in a dog-cart, Mr. Du Brant in front with the driver, and Claude Locker and Hemphill behind. For some minutes the party was silent. If circumstances had permitted they would have gone separately.

As long as he could see the mansion of Broadstone, Claude Locker spoke no word. When the time had come to go he had not wanted to go. When taking leave of Dick Lancaster he had congratulated that favored young man upon the fact that he had not been rejected, and had assured him that if he had remained at Broadstone he would have done his best to back him up as he had said he would.

Hemphill was not inclined to talk. Of course, Locker did not care to converse with the young diplomat, and consequently he found himself bored, and to relieve his feelings he burst into song. His words were impromptu, and although the verse was not very good, it was very impressive. It began as follows:

"Here we go, Lovers three, All steeped deep In miseree."

At this Mr. Hemphill turned and looked at him, while a deep grunt came from the front seat, but the singer kept on without much attention to meter, and none at all to tune.

"This is so, Here we go, Flabbergasted, Hopes all blasted, Flags half-masted. While it lasted, We poor--"

"Look here," cried Du Brant, turning round suddenly, "I beg you desist that. You are insulting. And what you say is not true, as regards me at least. You can sing for yourself."

"Not true!" cried Locker. "Oh, ho, oh ho! Perhaps you have forgotten yourself, kind sir."

This little speech seemed to make Du Brant very angry, and he fairly shouted at Locker: "No, I haven't forgotten myself, and I have not forgotten you! You have insulted me before, and I should like to make you pay for it! I should like to have satisfaction from you, sir"

"That sounds well," cried Locker. "Do you mean to fight?"

"I want the satisfaction due to a gentleman," answered the young Austrian.

"Good," cried Locker, "that would suit me exactly. It would brighten me up. Let's do it now. I am not going to stop at Washington, and this is the only time I can give you. Driver, can we get to the station in time if we stop a little while?"

The person addressed was a young negro who had become intensely interested in the conversation.

"Oh, yes, sah," he answered. "We'll git dar twenty minutes before de train does, and if you takes half an hour I can whip up. That train's mostly late, anyway."

"All right," cried Locker. "And now, sir, how shall we fight? What have you got to fight with?"

"This is folly," growled Du Brant. "I have nothing to fight with. I do not fight with fists, like you Americans."

"Haven't you a penknife" coolly asked Locker. "If not, I daresay Mr. Hemphill will lend you one."

Du Brant now fairly trembled with anger. "When I fight," said he, "I fight like a gentleman; with a sword or a pistol."

"I am sorry," said Locker, "but if I remembered to bring my sword and pistol I must have put them in the bottom of my trunk, and that has gone on to the station. Have you two pistols or swords with you? Or do you think you could get sufficient satisfaction out of a couple of piles of stones that we could hurl at each other?"

Du Brant made no English answer to this, but uttered some savage remarks in French.

"Do you understand what all that means?" inquired Locker of Hemphill, who had been quietly listening to what had been going on.

"Yes," said the other, "he is cursing you up hill, and down dale."

"Oh," said Locker, "it sounds to me as if he were calculating his last week's expenses. But when he gets to French cursing, I drop him. I can't fight him that way."

The colored boy now showed that he was very much disappointed. He had expected the pleasure of a fight, and he was afraid he was going to lose it.

"I tell you, sah," he said to Locker, "why don't you try kick-shins? Do you know what kick-shins is? You don't know what kick-shins is? Well, kick-shins is this: one fellow stands in front of the other fellow, and one takes hold of the collar of the other fellow, and the other fellow takes hold of his collar, and then they kicks each other's shins, and the one what squeals fust, he's licked, and the other one gits the gal. You've got pretty thin shoes, sah," addressing Du Brant, "and your feet ain't half as big as his'n, but your toes is more p'inted."

"No kick-shins for me," said Locker. "I've got to be economical about my clothes."

Du Brant's rage now became ungovernable. "Do you apologize," he cried, "or I take you by the throat, and I strangle you."

Hemphill, who had been smiling mildly at the kick-shin proposition, now turned himself about. "You will not do that," he said, "and if you don't sit quiet and keep your mouth shut, I'll toss you out of this cart, and make you walk the rest of the way to the station."

As Hemphill looked quite big and strong enough to execute this threat, and as he was too quiet a man to be ignored, Du Brant turned his face to the horse, and said no more.

"I did not know you were such a trump" cried Locker. "Give me your hand. I should hate to be strangled by a foreigner!"

When they took the train Du Brant went by himself into the smoking-car, and Locker and Hemphill had a seat together.

"Do you know," said Locker, "I am beginning to like you, although I must admit that before this morning I can remember no feeling of the sort."

"That is not surprising," said Hemphill. "A man is not generally fond of his rival."

"We will let it go at that," said Locker, "we'll let it go at that! I should not wonder, if we had all stayed at Broadstone; and if the central object of interest had also remained; and, if I had failed, as I have failed, to make the proper impression; and if the professor, whom I promised to back up in case I should find myself out of the combat, should also have failed; I should not wonder if I had backed up you."

_CHAPTER XXIX_

_Two Pieces of News._

It was nearly two weeks after Mrs. Easterfield drove away from the captain's toll-gate before she went back there again. There were many reasons for thus depriving herself of Olive's society. Mr. Tom had stayed with her for an unusually long time; a house full of visitors, mostly relatives, had succeeded the departed lovers, and Foxes; and, besides, Olive was so very busy and so very happy--as she learned from many little notes--cleaning the house from garret to cellar, and loving her uncle better every day, that it really would have been a misdemeanor to interfere with her ardent pursuits.

But now Olive had written that she wanted to tell her a lot of things which could not go into a letter, and so the Broadstone carriage stopped again at the toll-gate.

Two great things had Olive to tell, and she was really glad that her uncle was not at home so that she might get at once to the telling.

In the first place, old Mr. Port was dead, and Captain Asher was in great trouble about this. Of course, he could not keep away from the deathbed of his old friend, nor could he neglect to do all honor to his memory, but it was a terrible thing for him to have to go into the house where Maria Port lived. After what had happened it was almost too much for his courage, although he was a brave man. But he had conquered his feelings, and he was there now. The funeral would be to-morrow.

When Mrs. Easterfield heard all that Olive had to tell her about Maria Port, her heart went out to that brave man who kept the toll-gate.

The next thing that Olive had to tell was that she had heard from her father, who wrote that he would soon arrive in this country; that he would then go West, where he would marry Olive's former schoolmate; and that, on their wedding tour, he would make a little visit at the tollhouse so that Olive might see her new mother.

"Now, isn't this enough," cried Olive, "to make any girl spread her wings and fly to the ends of the earth? But I have no wings; they have all gone away in a dog-cart. But I don't feel about that as I used to feel," she continued, a little hardness coming into her face. "I am settled now just the same as if I were married, and father and Edith Malcolmsen may come just as soon as they please. They shall make no plans for me; I am going to stay here with Uncle John. This house is mine now, and I am seriously thinking of having it painted. I shall stay here just as if I were one of those trees, and my father and my new mother--"

Here tears came into Olive's eyes and Mrs. Easterfield stopped her.

"Olive," said she, "I will give you a piece of advice. When your father and his young wife come here, treat her exactly as if she were your old friend. If you do so I think you will get along very well. This is partly selfish advice, for I greatly desire the opportunity to treat your father hospitably. He was my friend when I was a girl, you remember, and I looked up to him with very great admiration."

And so these two friends sat and talked, and talked, and talked until it was positively shameful, considering that the Broadstone horses were accustomed to be fed and watered at noon, and that the coachman was very hungry.

When, at last, Mrs. Easterfield drove home, and it must have been three in the afternoon, she left Olive very much comforted, even in regard to the unfortunate obligations which had fallen upon her uncle. For now that her old father had gone, all intercourse with the Port woman would cease.

But in her own mind Mrs. Easterfield was not so very much comforted. It was all well enough to talk about Olive and her uncle and the happiness and safety of the home he had given her, but that sort of thing could not last very long. He was an elderly man and she was a girl. In the natural course of events, she would probably be left alone while she was very young. She would then be alone, for her father's wife could never be a mother to her when he was at sea, and their home would never be a home for her when he was on shore. What Olive wanted, in Mrs. Easterfield's opinion, was a husband. An uncle, such as Captain Asher, was very charming, but he was not enough.

During this pleasant afternoon, when Captain Asher was in town attending to some arrangements for the burial of Mr. Port, Miss Maria was sitting discreetly alone in her darkened chamber. She had a great many things to think about, and if she had allowed her conscience full freedom of action, there would have been much more upon her mind. She might have been troubled by the recollection that since her father's very determined treatment of her when she had endeavored to fix herself upon the affections of Captain Asher, she had so conducted herself toward her venerable parent that she had actually nagged the life out of him; and that had she been the dutiful daughter she ought to have been he might have been living yet. But thoughts of this nature were not common to Maria Port. She had made herself sure that the will was all right, and he was very old. There was a time for all things, and Maria was now about to begin life for herself. To her plans for this new life she now gave almost her sole attention.

She had one great object in view which overshadowed everything else, and this was to marry Captain Asher. This she could have done before, she firmly believed, had it not been for her old father and that horrid girl, the captain's niece. As for the elderly man who kept the toll-gate she did not mind him. If not interfered with, she was sure she could make him marry her, and then the great ambition of her life would be satisfied.

Unpretentious as was her establishment in town, she did not care to spend the money necessary to keep it up, and although she was often an unkind woman, she was not cruel enough to think of inflicting herself as a boarder upon any housewife in the town. No, the toll-gate was the home for her; and if Captain Asher chose to inflict himself upon her for a few years longer, she would try to endure it.

One obstacle to her plans was now gone, and she must devote herself to the work of getting rid of the other one. While Olive Asher remained at the tollhouse there was no chance for her in that quarter.

The funeral was over, and when the bereaved Miss Port took leave of Captain Asher she exhibited a quiet gratitude which was very becoming and suitable. During the short time when he had visited the house every day she had showed him no resentment on account of what had passed between them, and had treated him very much as if he had been one of her father's old friends with whom she was not very well acquainted and to whom she was indebted for various services connected with the sad occasion.

When he took final leave of her he shook her hand, and as he did so he gave her a peculiar grasp which, in his own mind, indicated that he and she had now nothing more to do with each other, and that the acquaintance was adjourned without day. She bade him a simple farewell, and as he left the house she grinned at his broad back. This grin expressed, to herself at least, that the old and rather faulty acquaintance was at an end, and that the new connection which she intended to establish between herself and him would be upon an entirely different basis.

He did not ask her if there was anything more that he could do for her, for he did not desire to mix himself up with her affairs, which he knew she was eminently able to manage for herself, and it was with a deep breath of relief that he got into his buggy and drove home to his toll-gate.

_CHAPTER XXX_

_By the Sea._

When Lieutenant Asher and his bride arrived at his brother's toll-gate they were surprised as well as delighted by the cordiality of their greeting. Each of them had expected a little stiffness during the first interview, but there was nothing of the kind, although young Mrs. Asher was bound to admit, when she took time to think upon the subject, that Olive treated her exactly as if she had been a dear old schoolmate, and not at all as her father's wife. This made things very pleasant and easy at that time, she thought, although it might have to be corrected a little after a while.

Things were all very pleasant, and there never had been so much talk at the tollhouse since the first stone of its foundation had been laid. The day after the arrival of the newly married couple Mrs. Easterfield called upon them, and invited the whole family to dinner.

"I have never realized how much she must have thought of my parents!" said Olive to herself, as she gazed upon her father and Mrs. Easterfield. "They are so very glad to see each other!"

She did not know that Lieutenant Asher had been to the present Mrs. Easterfield almost as much of a divinity as Mr. Hemphill had been to her girlish fancy; the difference being that the young cadet was well aware of the adoration of this child, not yet in long dresses, and greatly enjoyed and encouraged it. When, a few years later, the child heard of his marriage, she had outgrown the love with the lengthening of the skirts. But she had a tender recollection of it which she cherished.

The dinner the next day was a great success, and after it the lieutenant and Mrs. Easterfield earnestly discussed Olive when they had the opportunity for a _tête-à-tête_. She was so much to each of them, and he was grateful that his daughter had fallen under the influence of this old friend, now a charming woman.

"She is so beautiful," said the lady, "that she ought to be married as soon as possible to the most suitable bachelor in the United States."

"Not so fast! Not so fast" said the lieutenant. "Edith and I are going to housekeeping very soon, and then we shall want Olive."

Mrs. Easterfield smiled, but made no reply.