Chapter 6

The operator has not yet completely gathered the reason for the reproving stare Jimmy gave him. In part it has been explained to him. But, as Jimmy has said since, the man deserved censure for drawing an erroneous conclusion from another's mistake.

It was then noon, so Jimmy and Mary, at Mary's suggestion, got an appetite by making another tour of the shops. In the meantime a snail-paced messenger boy was climbing the Putnam steps with the telegram in his hand.

III

Lucy took the telegram from the boy and told him to wait until she saw if there should be an answer. She tore off the envelope, unfolded the yellow slip of paper, read the message, gasped, blushed and turned and left the patient boy on the steps.

Into the house she rushed, calling to her mother. She thrust the telegram into her hands, exclaiming:

"Read that! Isn't it what we might have expected?"

"Mercy! What is it? Who's dead?"

"Nobody! It's better than that," was Lucy's astonishing reply.

Mrs. Putnam read the telegram, and then beamingly drew her daughter to her and kissed her. The two then wrote a message, after much counting of words, to be sent to Jimmy. It read:

"Of course. Mama will come with me. Telephone to papa."

When this reached Jimmy he was nonplused. He rubbed his forehead, studied the message, reread it, and then handed it to Mary with the suggestion:

"Maybe you can make it out. I can't."

Mary knitted her brows and studied the message in turn. At length she handed it back.

"It is simple," she decided. "She is a nice, sweet girl, and she wants me to meet her mama and papa. Or maybe she wants us to be chaperoned."

So Jimmy and Mary waited in the hotel parlor until Lucy should arrive. Reminded by Mary, Jimmy went to the 'phone and told Mr. Putnam that Lucy was coming to lunch with him.

"Well, that's all right, isn't it, Jimmy?" Mr. Putnam asked.

"Yes. But she told me to telephone you."

"Why?"

"I don't know. But won't you join us?"

"Is that other matter arranged, Jimmy?"

"N-no. Not yet."

"I told you I didn't want to see you until it was. As soon as you wake up, let me know. Good-by."

Jimmy, red, returned to the parlor, and there was confronted by a vision of white, with shining eyes and pink cheeks, who rushed up to him and kissed him and called him a dear old thing and said he was the cleverest, most unconventional man that ever was.

Limp, astounded, but delighted, James Trottingham Minton drew back a pace from Lucy Putnam, who, in her dainty white dress and her white hat and filmy white veil, was a delectable sight.

"I want you to meet Cousin Mary," he said.

"Is she to attend?"

"Of course," he answered.

They walked toward the end of the long parlor where Mary was sitting, but half way down the room they were stopped by Mrs. Putnam. She put both hands on Jimmy's shoulders, gave him a motherly kiss on one cheek, and sighed:

"Jimmy, you will be kind to my little girl?"

Jimmy looked from mother to daughter in dumb bewilderment. Certainly this was the most remarkable conduct he ever had dreamed of. Yet, Mrs. Putnam's smile was so affectionate and kind, her eyes met his with such a tender look that he intuitively felt that all was right as right should be. And yet--why should they act as they did?

Into the midst of his reflections burst Lucy's chum, Alice Jordan.

"I've a notion to kiss him, too!" she cried.

Jimmy stonily held himself in readiness to be kissed. If kissing went by favor he was pre-eminently a favored one. But Lucy clutched his arm with a pretty air of ownership and forbade Alice.

"Indeed, you will not. It wouldn't be good form now. After--afterward, you may. Just once. Isn't that right, Jimmy?"

"Perfectly," he replied, his mind still whirling in an effort to adjust actualities to his conception of what realities should be.

The four had formed a little group to themselves in the center of the parlor, Lucy clinging to Jimmy's arm, Mrs. Putnam eying them both with a happy expression, and Alice fluttering from one to the other, assuring them that they were the handsomest couple she ever had seen, that they ought to be proud of each other, and that Mrs. Putnam ought to be proud of them, and that she was sure nobody in all the world ever, ever could be as sublimely, beatifically happy as they would be, and that they must be sure to let her come to visit them.

"And," she cried, admiringly, stopping to pat Jimmy on his unclutched arm, "I just think your idea of proposing by telegraph was the brightest thing I ever heard of!"

It is to be written to the everlasting credit of James Trottingham Minton that he restrained himself from uttering the obvious remark on hearing this. Two words from him would have wrecked the house of cards. Instead, he blushed and smiled modestly. Slowly it was filtering into his brain that by some unusual, unexpected, unprecedented freak of fortune his difficulties had been overcome; that some way or other he had proposed and had been accepted.

"I shall always cherish that telegram," Lucy declared, leaning more affectionately toward Jimmy. "If that grimy-faced messenger boy had not gone away so quickly with my answer I should have kissed him!"

"I've got the telegram here, dear," said Mrs. Putnam.

"Oh, let's see it again," Alice begged. "I always wanted to hear a proposal, but it is some satisfaction to see one."

Mrs. Putnam opened her hand satchel, took out the telegram, unfolded it slowly, and they all looked at it, Jimmy gulping down a great choke of joy as he read:

"Please meet me and marry at Annex at two o'clock."

His bashfulness fell from him as a garment. He took the message, saying he would keep it, so that it might not be lost. Then he piloted the two girls and Mrs. Putnam to the spot where Mary had been waiting patiently and wonderingly.

"Mary," he said boldly, without a tremor in his voice, "I want you to meet the future Mrs. Minton, and my future mother-in-law, Mrs. Putnam, and my future--what are you to me, anyhow, Alice?"

"I'm a combination flower girl, maid of honor and sixteen bridesmaids chanting the wedding march," she laughed.

"And when," Mary gasped, "when is this to be?"

"At two o'clock," Lucy answered.

"Oh, Jimmy! You wretch! You never told me a word about it. But never mind. I bought the very thing for a wedding gift this morning."

Jimmy tore himself away from the excited laughter and chatter, ran to the telephone and got Mr. Putnam on the wire.

"This is Minton," he said.

"Who? Oh! Jimmy? Well?"

"Well, I've fixed that up."

"Good. And when is it to be?"

"Right away. Here at the Annex. I want you to go and get the license for me on your way over."

"Come, come, Jimmy. Don't be in such precipitate haste."

"You told me that was the only way to arrange these matters."

"Humph! Did I? Well, I'll get the license for you--"

"Good-by, then. I've got to telephone for a minister."

The minister was impressed at once with the value of haste in coming, and on his way back to the wedding party Jimmy stopped long enough to hand a five-dollar bill to the telegraph operator.

"Thank you, sir," said the astonished man. "I have been worrying for fear I had made a mistake about your message."

"You did. You made the greatest mistake of your life. Thank you!"

NATURAL PHILOSOPHY

BY WILLIAM HENRY DRUMMOND

Very offen I be t'inkin' of de queer folks goin' roun', And way dey kip a-talkin' of de hard tam get along-- May have plaintee money, too, an' de healt' be good an' soun'-- But you'll fin' dere's alway somet'ing goin' wrong-- 'Course dere may be many reason w'y some feller ought to fret-- But me, I'm alway singin' de only song I know-- 'Tisn't long enough for music, an' so short you can't forget, But it drive away de lonesome, an' dis is how she go, "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."

Funny feller's w'at dey call me--"so diff'ren' from de res'," But ev'rybody got hees fault, as far as I can see-- An' all de t'ing I'm doin', I do it for de bes', Dough w'en I'm bettin' on a race, dat's offen loss for me-- "Oho!" I say, "Alphonse, ma frien', to-day is not your day, For more you got your money up, de less your trotter go-- But never min' an' don't lie down," dat's w'at I alway say, An' sing de sam' ole song some more, mebbe a leetle slow-- "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."

S'pose ma uncle die an' lef me honder dollar, mebbe two-- An' I don't tak' hees advice--me--for put heem on de bank-- 'Stead o' dat, some lot'rie ticket, to see w'at I can do, An' purty soon I'm findin' put dey're w'at you call de blank-- Wall! de bank she might bus' up dere--somet'ing might go wrong-- Dem feller, w'en dey get it, mebbe skip before de night-- Can't tell--den w'ere's your money? So I sing ma leetle song An' don't boder wit' de w'isky, an' again I feel all right. "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."

If you're goin' to mak' de marry, kip a look out on de eye, But no matter how you're careful, it was risky anyhow-- An' if you're too unlucky, jus' remember how you try For gettin' dat poor woman, dough she may have got you now-- All de sam', it sometam happen dat your wife will pass away-- No use cryin', you can't help it--dere's your duty to you'se'f-- You don't need to ax de neighbor, dey will tell you ev'ry day Start again lak hones' feller, for dere's plaintee woman lef'-- "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."

Poor man lak me, I'm not'ing: only w'en election's dere, An' ev'rybody's waitin' to ketch you by de t'roat-- De money I be makin' den, wall! dot was mon affaire-- An' affer all w'at diff'rence how de poor man mak' de vote? So I do ma very bes'--me--wit' de wife an' familee-- On de church door Sunday morning, you can see us all parade-- Len' a frien' a half a dollar, an' never go on spree-- So w'en I'm comin' die--me--no use to be afraid-- "Jus' tak' your chance, an' try your luck."

HOW I SPOKE THE WORD

FRANK L. STANTON

The snow come down in sheets of white An' made the pine trees shiver; 'Peared like the world had said good night An' crawled beneath the kiver.

The river's shiny trail wuz gone-- The winds sung out a warnin'; The mountains put their nightcaps on An' said: "Good-by till mornin'!"

'Twuz jest the night in fiel' an' wood When cabin homes look cozy, An' fine oak fires feel mighty good, An' women's cheeks look rosy.

An' that remin's me. We wuz four, A-settin' by the fire; But still it 'peared ten mile or more Betwixt me an' Maria!

"No, sir!" (I caught that eye of his, An' then I fit and floundered!) "The thing I want to tell you is--" Says he: "The old mare's _foundered_?"

"No, sir! it ain't about no hoss!" (My throat begin to rattle!) "I see," he said, "another loss In them fine Jersey cattle!"

An' then I lost my patience! Then I hollered high and higher (You could 'a' heard me down the glen): "_No, sir! I want Maria!_"

"An' now," says I, "the shaft'll strike: He'll let _that_ statement stay so!" He looked at me astonished-like, Then yelled: "_Why didn't you say so?_"

THE UNIVERSITY INTELLIGENCE OFFICE

BY JOHN KENDRICK BANGS

"Mr. Brief," said the Idiot the other morning as the family of Mrs. Smithers-Pedagog gathered at the breakfast table, "don't you want to be let in on the ground floor of a sure thing?"

"I do if there's no cellar under it to fall into when the bottom drops out," smiled Mr. Brief. "What's up? You going into partnership with Mr. Rockefeller?"

"No," said the Idiot. "There isn't any money in that."

"What?" cried the Bibliomaniac. "No money in a partnership with Rockefeller?"

"Not a cent," said the Idiot. "After paying Mr. Rockefeller his dividend of 105 per cent. of the gross receipts and deducting expenses from what's left, you'd find you owed him money. My scheme is to start an entirely new business--one that's never been thought of before apparently--incorporate it at $100,000, of which I am to receive $51,000 in stock for the idea, $24,000 worth of shares to go to Mr. Brief for legal services and the balance to be put on the market at 45."

"That sounds rich," said Mr. Brief. "I might devote an hour of my time to your scheme some rainy Sunday afternoon when there is nothing else to do, for that amount of stock, provided, of course, your scheme has no State's Prison string tied to it."

"There isn't even a county jail at the end of it," observed the Idiot. "It's clean, clear and straight. It will fill a long felt want, and, as I see it, ought to pay fifty percent dividends the first year. They say figures don't lie, and I am in possession of some that tell me I've got a bonanza in my University Intelligence Office Company."

"The title sounds respectable," said Mr. Whitechoker. "What is it, Mr. Idiot--a sort of University Settlement Scheme?"

"Well--yes," said the Idiot. "It is designed to get University graduates settled, if you can call that a University Settlement Scheme. To put it briefly, it's an Intelligence Office for College graduates where they may go for the purpose of getting a job, just as our cooks, and butlers and valets and the rest do. If there's money in securing a place at good wages for the ladies who burn our steaks and promote indigestion for us, and for the gentlemen who keep our trousers pressed and wear out our linen, I don't see why there wouldn't be money in an institution which did the same thing for the struggling young bachelor of arts who is thrown out of the arms of Alma Mater on to the hands of a cold and unappreciative world."

"At last!" cried the Doctor. "At last I find sanity in one of your suggestions. That idea of yours, Mr. Idiot, is worthy of a genius. I have a nephew just out of college and what on earth to do with him nobody in the family can imagine. He doesn't seem to be good for anything except sitting around and letting his hair grow long."

"That isn't much of a profession, is it," said the Idiot. "What does he want to do?"

"That's the irritating part of it," observed the Doctor. "When I asked him the other night what he intended to do for a living he said he hadn't made up his mind yet between becoming a motor-man or the Editor of the South American Review. That's a satisfactory kind of an answer, eh? Especially when the family income is hardly big enough to keep the modern youth in neckties."

"I don't believe any Intelligence Office in creation could do anything for a man like that," sneered the Bibliomaniac. "What that young man needs is a good sound spanking, and I'd like to give it to him."

"All right," said the Doctor with a laugh. "I'll see that you have the chance. If you'll go out to my sister's with me some time next week I'll introduce you to Bill and you can begin."

"Why don't you do it yourself, Doctor?" asked the Idiot, noting the twinkle in the Doctor's eye.

"I'm too busy," laughed the Doctor. "Besides I only weigh one hundred and twenty pounds and Bill is six feet two inches high and weighs two hundred and ten pounds stripped. I think if I were armed with a telegraph pole and Bill with only a tooth-pick as a weapon of defense he could thrash me with ease. However, if Mr. Bib wants to try it--"

"Send Bill to us, Doctor," said the Idiot. "I sort of like Bill and I'll bet the University Intelligence Office will get him a job in forty-eight hours. A man who is willing to mote or Edit has an adaptability that ought to locate him permanently somewhere."

"I don't quite see," said Mr. Brief, "just how you are going to work your scheme, Mr. Idiot. I must confess I should regard Bill as a pretty tough proposition."

"Not at all," said the Idiot. "The only trouble with Bill is that he hasn't found himself yet. He's probably one of those easy-going, popular youngsters who've devoted their college days to growing. Just at present he's got more vitality than brains. I imagine from his answer to the Doctor that he is a good-natured hulks who could get anything he wanted in college except a scholarship. I haven't any doubt that he was beloved of all his classmates and was known to his fellows as Old Hoss, or Beefy Bill or Blue-eyed Billie and could play any game from Muggins to Pit like a hero of a Bret Harte romance."

"You've sized Bill up all right," said the Doctor. "He is just that, but he has brains. The only trouble is he's been saving them up for a rainy day and now when the showers are beginning he doesn't know how to use 'em. How would you go about getting him a job, Mr. Idiot?"

"Bill ought to go into the publishing business," said the Idiot. "He was cut out for a book-agent. He has a physique which, to begin with, would command respectful attention for anything he might have to say concerning the wares he had to sell. He seems to have, from your brief description of him, that suavity of manner which would surely secure his admittance into the houses of the _elite_, and his sense of humor I judge to be sufficiently highly developed to enable him to make a sale wherever he felt there was the remotest chance. Is he handsome?"

"I am told he looks like me," said the Doctor, pleasantly.

"Oh, well," rejoined the Idiot, "good looks aren't essential after all. It would be better though if he were a man of fine presence. If he's big and genial, as you suggest, he can carry off his deficiencies in personal pulchritude."

The Doctor flushed a trifle. "Oh, Bill isn't so plain," he observed airily. "There's none of your sissy beauty about Bill, I grant you, but--oh, well"--here the Doctor twirled his mustache complacently.

"I should think the place for Bill would be on the trolley," sneered the Bibliomaniac.

"No, sir," returned the Idiot. "Never. Geniality never goes on the trolley. In the first place it isn't appreciated by the Management and in the second place it is a dangerous gift for a motor-man. I had a friend once--a college graduate of very much Bill's kind--who went on the trolley as a Conductor at seven dollars a week and, by Jingo, would you believe it, all his friends waited for his car and of course he never asked any of 'em for their fare. Gentlemen, he used to say, welcome to my car. This is on me."

"Swindled the Company by letting his friends ride free, eh?" said the Bibliomaniac.

"Never," said the Idiot. "Pete was honest and he rung 'em up same as anybody and of course had to settle with the Treasurer at the end of the trip. On his first month he was nine dollars out. Then he couldn't bring himself to ask a lady for money, and if a passenger looked like a sport Pete would offer to match him for his fare--double or quits. Consequence was he lost money steadily. All the hard luck people used to ride with him, too, and one night--it was a bitter night in December and everybody in the car was pretty near frozen--Pete stopped his car in front of the Fifth Avenue Hotel and invited everybody on board to come in and have a wee nippy. All except two old ladies and a Chinaman accepted and of course the reporters got hold of it, told the story in the papers and Pete was bounced. I don't think the average college graduate is quite suited by temperament for the trolley service."

"All of which is intensely interesting," observed the Bibliomaniac, "but I don't see how it helps to make your University Intelligence Office Company convincing."

"It helps in this way," explained the Idiot. "We shall have a Board of Inspectors made up of men with some knowledge of human nature who will put these thousands of young graduates through a cross-examination to find out just what they can do. Few of 'em have the slightest idea of that and they'll gladly pay for the assistance we propose to give them when they have discovered that they have taken the first real step toward securing a useful and profitable occupation. If a Valedictorian comes into the University Intelligence Office and applies for a job we'll put him through a third degree examination and if we discover in him those restful qualities which go to the making of a good plumber, we'll set about finding him a job in a plumbing establishment. If a Greek Salutatorian in search of a position has the sweep of arm and general uplift of manner that indicates a useful career as a window-washer, we will put him in communication with those who need just such a person."

"How about the coldly supercilious young man who knows it all and wishes to lead a life of elegant leisure, yet must have wages?" asked the Bibliomaniac. "Our Colleges are turning out many such."

"He's the easiest proposition in the bunch," replied the Idiot. "If they were all like that our fortunes would be established in a week."

"In what way?" persisted the Bibliomaniac.

"In two ways," replied the Idiot. "Such persons are constantly in demand as Janitors of cheap apartment houses which are going up with marvelous rapidity on all sides of us, and as Editors of ten-cent magazines, of which on the average there are, I believe, five new ones started every day of the year, including Saturdays, Sundays and legal holidays."

"I say, Mr. Idiot," said the Doctor later. "That was a bully idea of yours about the University Intelligence Office. It would be a lot of help to the thousands of youngsters who are graduated every year--but I don't think it's practicable just yet. What I wanted to ask you is if you could help me with Bill?"

"Certainly I can," said the Idiot.

"Really?" cried the Doctor.

"Yes, indeed," said the Idiot. "I can help you a lot."

"How? What shall I do?" asked the Doctor.

"Take my advice," whispered the Idiot. "Let Bill alone. He'll find himself. You can tell that by his answer."

"Oh!" said the Doctor, lapsing into solemnity. "I thought you could give me a material suggestion as to what to do with the boy."

"Ah! You want something specific, eh?" said the Idiot.

"Yes," said the Doctor.

"Well--get him a job as a Campaign Speaker. This is a great year for the stump," said the Idiot.

"That isn't bad," said the Doctor. "Which side?"

"Either," said the Idiot. "Or both. Bill has adaptability and, between you and me, from what I hear on the street _both_ sides are going to win this year. If they do, Bill's fortune is made."

THE COUNTRY SCHOOL

ANONYMOUS

Put to the door--the school's begun-- Stand in your places every one,-- Attend,----

* * * * *

Read in the Bible,--tell the place,-- _Job twentieth and the seventeenth varse_-- Caleb, begin. _And--he--shall--suck_-- _Sir,--Moses got a pin and stuck_-- Silence,--stop Caleb--Moses! here! What's this complaint? _I didn't, Sir_,-- Hold up your hand,--What, is't a pin? _O dear, I won't do so again._ Read on. _The increase of his h-h-horse_-- Hold: H,O,U,S,E, spells house. _Sir, what's this word? for I can't tell it._ Can't you indeed! Why, spell it. _Spell it._ Begin yourself, I say. _Who, I?_ Yes, try. Sure you can spell it. _Try._ Go, take your seats and primers, go, You sha'n't abuse the Bible so.

_Will pray Sir Master mend my pen?_ Say, Master, that's enough.--Here Ben, Is this your copy? Can't you tell? Set all your letters parallel. _I've done my sum--'tis just a groat_-- Let's see it.--_Master, m' I g' out?_ Yes, bring some wood in--What's that noise? _It isn't I, Sir, it's them boys._--