CHAPTER IV.
NEIGHBORLY CALLS.
In the opinion of Miss Betsey Kling, a lone young woman, who possessedthree large trunks, a more than average share of good looks, and whowent out and came in at irregular and unheard-of hours, was a person tobe looked after and inquired about; accordingly, while Miss Archer wasmaking the acquaintance of Nattie, and of the invisible "C," Miss Klingdescended upon Mrs. Simonson, with the object of dragging from that ladyall possible information she might be possessed of, regarding her latestlodger. As a result, Miss Kling learned that Miss Archer was studying tobecome an opera singer, that she occasionally now sang at concerts,meeting with encouraging success, and further, that she possessed thebest of references. But Miss Kling gave a sniffle of distrust.
"Public characters are not to be trusted. Do you remember," she askedsolemnly, "do you remember the young man you once had here, who ran awaywith your teaspoons and your toothbrush?"
Ah, yes! Mrs. Simonson remembered him perfectly. Was she likely toforget him? But he, Mrs. Simonson respectfully submitted, was not asinger, but a commercial traveler.
Miss Kling shook her head.
"That experience should be a warning! You cannot deny that no youngwoman of a modest and retiring disposition would seek to place herselfin a public position. Can you imagine _me_ upon the stage?" concluded MissKling with great dignity.
Mrs. Simonson was free to admit that her imagination could contemplateno such possibility, and then, neither desirous of criticising a goodpaying lodger, or of offending Miss Kling--that struggle with the waysand means having taught her to, offend no one if it could possibly beavoided--she changed the subject by expatiating at length upon a topicshe always found safe--the weather. But Miss Celeste Fishblate comingin, Miss Kling left the weather to take care of itself, and returned tothe more interesting discussion, to her, of Miss Archer.
Celeste, a young lady favored with a countenance that impressed thebeholder as being principally nose and teeth, and possessing a largeshare of the commodity known as _gush_, was ready enough to be therecipient of her neighbor's collection of gossip. But, to Miss Kling'sno small disgust, she was rather lukewarm in pre-judging the new-comer.In truth, although somewhat alarmed at the "three trunks," lest sheshould be out-dressed, she was already debating within herself whetherMiss Archer, as a medium by which more frequent access to Mrs.Simonson's gentlemen lodgers could be obtained, was not a person whoseacquaintance it was desirable to cultivate. Moreover, the words operasinger raised ecstatic visions of a possible future introduction to some"ravishing tenor," the remote idea of which caused her to be so visiblypreoccupied, that Miss Kling took her leave with angry sniffles, andreturned home to ponder over what she had heard.
A few days after, Nattie, who had quite paralyzed Miss Kling by refusingto listen to what she boldly termed unfounded gossip about her newfriend, went to spend an evening with her.
Miss Archer occupied a suite of rooms, consisting of a parlor and a verysmall bed-room that had been Mrs. Simonson's own, but which on accountof the "ways and means" she had given up now, confining herselfexclusively to the kitchen, fitted up to look as much like a parlor as akitchen could.
"And how is 'C'?" asked Miss Archer as she warmly welcomed her visitor.
"Still as agreeable as ever," Nattie replied. "I told him I was comingto see you this evening and he sent his regards, and wished he could beof the party."
"I wish he might. But that would spoil the mystery," rejoined MissArcher. "Do you know what the 'C' is for?"
"'Clem,' he says. His other name I don't know. He would give me someoutlandish cognomen if I should ask. But it isn't of much consequence."
"It might be if you should really fall in love with him," laughed MissArcher.
"Fall in love! Over the wire! That is absurd, especially as I am notsusceptible," Nattie answered, coloring a trifle, however, as sheremembered how utterly disconsolate she had been all that morning,because a "cross" on the wire had for several hours cut offcommunication between her office and "X n."
"You think it would be too romantic for real life? Doubtless you areright. And the funny incidents--have you anything new in yournote-book?"
"Only that a man to-day, who had perhaps just dined, wanted to know thetariff to the U--nited St--at--ates," answered Nattie, glancing at someautumn leaves tastefully arranged on the walls and curtains. "But 'C'was telling me about a mistake that was lately made--not by him, hevehemently asserts, although I am inclined to think it message asoriginally sent was, 'John is dead, be at home at three,' when it wasdelivered it read, 'John is dead _beat_; home at three.'"
"How was that possible?" asked Miss Archer, laughing,
"I suppose the sending operator did not leave space enough between thewords; we leave a small space between letters, and a longer one betweenwords," explained Nattie.
"The operator who received it must have been rather stupid not to haveseen the mistake," Miss Archer said. "I have too good an opinion of your'C' to believe it was he. But every profession has its comic side aswell as its tricks, I suppose; mine, I am sure, does. But I am learningsomething every day, and I am determined," energetically, "to fight myway up!"
Stirred by Miss Archer's earnestness, there came to Nattie an uneasyconsciousness that she herself was making no progress towards her onlydreamed of ambition, and a shade crossed her face; but without observingit, Miss Archer continued,
"I always had a passion for the lyric stage, and now there is nothing toprevent--" did a slight shadow here darken also her sunny eyes, goneinstantly?-- "I shall make music my life's aim. Fortunately I have moneyof my own to enable me to study, and--"
Miss Archer's speech was here interrupted in a somewhat startlingmanner, by the door suddenly flying open, banging against the piano witha prodigious crash, and disclosing Quimby, red and abashed, outside.
Nattie jumped, Miss Archer gave a little scream, and the Duchess, Mrs.Simonson's handsome tortoise-shell cat, so named from her extremedignity, who lay at full length upon a rug, drew herself up in haughtydispleasure.
"I--I beg pardon, I am sure!" stammered the more agitated intruder."Really, I--I am so ashamed I--I can hardly speak! I was unfortunateenough to stumble--I'm used to it, you know,--and I give you my word ofhonor I never saw such a--such an extremely lively door!"
"It is of no consequence," Miss Archer assured him. "Will you come in?"
"Thank you, I--I fear I intrude," answered Quimby, clutching hiswatch-chain, and glancing at Nattie, guiltily conscious of the strongdesire to do so that had taken possession of him since the sound of hervoice had penetrated to his apartment, and in perfect agony lest sheshould surmise it. However, upon Miss Archer's assuring him that theywould be very glad of his company, he ventured to enter. But the doorstill weighed upon his mind, for after carefully closing it, he stoodand stared at it with a very perplexed face.
"Never saw such a lively door, you know!" he repeated, finally sittingdown on the piano-stool, and folding both arms across one knee, lettinga hand droop dismally on either side, while he looked alternately atMiss Archer, Nattie, and the part of the room mentioned, at which theformer laughed, and then, with the kind intention of drawing his mindfrom the subject of his forced appearance, suggested a game of cards.
"Then we shall have to have one more person, shall we not?" Nattieasked, at this proposition.
"It would be better," replied Miss Archer. "Let me see--Mrs. Simonsondoes not play--"
"Mr. Norton does!" interrupted Quimby, forgetting the door, in hiseagerness to be of service. "I--I would willingly ask him to join us, ifyou will allow me!"
"That queer young artist who lodges here, you mean?" inquired MissArcher.
"Oh! But he is a dreadful Bohemian!" commented Nattie, distrustfully,before Quimby could reply.
"Is he?" laughed Miss Archer. "Then ask him in by all means! I amsomething of a Bohemian myself, and shall be delighted to meet a kindredsoul! I do not know as I have ever observed the gentleman parti
cularly,but if I remember rightly, he wears his hair very closely cropped, andis not a model of beauty?"
"But he is just as nice a fellow as if he was handsome outside!" saidQuimby earnestly, doubtless aware of his own shortcomings in the Adonisline. "He is a little queer to be sure, doesn't believe in love orsentiment or anything of that sort, you know, and he says he wears hishair cropped close because people have a general idea that artists arelong-haired, lackadaisical fellows,--not to say untidy, you know,--andhe is determined that no one shall be able to say it of him!"
Miss Archer was much amused at this description.
"He certainly is an odd genius, and decidedly worth knowing. Bring himin, I beg of you," she said.
But Quimby hesitated and glanced at Nattie.
"He is not very unconventional, I--I do not think he will shock you verymuch if you do not get him at it, you know!" he said to herapologetically.
"Oh! I am not at all alarmed!" said Nattie, adding, as her thoughtsreverted to Miss Kling, "I think, after all, a Bohemian is better than aperfect model of conventionalism!"
Miss Archer heartily indorsed this sentiment, and Quimby went in questof Mr. Norton, with whom he soon returned.
Unlike enough to the melancholy artist of romantic fame was Mr. Norton.Short, rather stout, inclined to be red in the face, large-nosed,scrupulously neat in dress, clean shaven, and closely-cropped hair--allthis the observing Miss Archer saw at a glance as she bowed to him inresponse to Quimby's introduction. But the second glance showed her thatthe expression of his face was so jovial that its plainness vanished asif by magic on his first smile.
If Nattie, possibly a trifle prejudiced in his disfavor, expected him tooutrage common propriety in some way, such as keeping on his hat,smoking a black pipe, or turning up his pantaloons leg, she wasutterly--shall we say disappointed? Truth to tell, before ten minuteshad elapsed from the time of his arrival, she was wishing she knew more"Bohemians," and even hoping "C" was one!
At home as soon as he entered the room, in a very short time thestrangers of a moment ago were his life-long friends. Full of anecdotesand quaint remarks, he was the life of the little party. Miss Archer,however, was a very able backer--Cyn, as they all found themselvescalling her soon after Jo Norton's advent, and forevermore.
"Cyn was," as its owner said, "short" for the samewhat lofty name ofCynthia.
Doubtless, the fact of these two, who were partners, beating nearlyevery game they played, was not without its effect in promoting theirmost genial feelings. A result brought about, not so much by theirskill, as by Quimby's perpetually forgetting what was trumps,confounding the right and left bowers, and disregarding the power of thejoker.
And in truth Quimby's mind was more on his partner than on the game, andhe was becoming more and more awake to the fact that his heart was fastfilling with admiration and adoration of which she was the object, andinevitably must soon overflow! For Nattie was really looking her verybest this evening. It was excitement and animation that her facedepended upon for its beauty. Miss Archer's companionship, too, wasdoing much towards promoting the cheerfulness that brought so clear alight to her eyes--the light that was now dazzling Quimby. For Cyn wasone of those people who live always in the sunshine, and seem to carryits own brightness around with them, while Nattie, on the contrary,oftentimes dwelt among the shadows, and a touch of their somberness hungover her, and showed itself upon her face.
But none of these lurking shadows were there to-night, and as aconsequence, Quimby was unable to keep his eyes off her, and sighed, andmade misdeals, and became generally mixed. His embarrassment was notlessened when Cyn mischievously informed him he had certainly foundfavor in the eyes of Miss Fishblate--who had called upon her the daybefore. He dropped the pack of cards he happened to have in his hand atthe moment, all over the floor, and then dived so hastily to pick themup that his head came in violent contact with the edge of the table, andfor a moment he was almost stunned.
But in answer to Cyn's anxious inquiry if he was hurt, he replied,
"It's nothing! I--I am used to it, you know!" Notwithstanding whichassertion his forehead developed such a sudden and terrific bump ofbenevolence, that Cyn insisted upon binding her handkerchief over it.Thus, with his head tied up, and secretly lamenting the unornamentalfigure he now presented to the eyes of his partner and charmer, Quimbyresumed the game. But what with this cause of uneasiness, and a latentfear that Cyn's jesting remark about Celeste might be true, a fear hehad privately been conscious of previously, although the least conceitedof mortals, Quimby played so badly--and indeed would undoubtedly haveanswered "checkers," had he been asked suddenly what game he wasplaying, on account of his meditations on a checkered existence--thatthe cards were soon abandoned, and Cyn delighted them with severalsongs, and a recitation of "Lady Clara Vere de Vere."
While Cyn was singing, Nattie happened to glance at Mr. Norton, andsuddenly remembering a sentence in a lately-read novel about some onelooking with "his soul in his eyes," wondered if that was not exactlywhat Mr. Norton was doing now? She did not notice, however, that it wascertainly what Quimby was trying not to do! She wondered too, if theyoung artist was paying Cyn some private compliments, for they seemed tobe talking together apart, as all were bidding each other good-night. Ifso, she could not understand why Cyn should look so mischievous over it.It was but a momentary thought, however, forgotten as they all mutuallyagreed that the pleasant evening just passed should be but the beginningof many. The circumstance was recalled to her mind, however, andexplained the next day, for on returning from the office she found underher door a pen and ink sketch, of which she knew at once Cyn was thedesigner, and Mr. Norton the executor. It represented two rooms, one oneach side of a partition in one was a table, containing the ordinarytelegraphic apparatus, before which sat a young lady strangelyresembling Miss Nattie Rogers, with her face beaming with smiles, andher hand grasping the key. In the other, a young man with a verybattered hat knelt before the sounder on his table, while behind him anurchin with a message in his hand stared unnoticed, open-mouthed andunheard; far above was Cupid, connecting the wires that ran from thegentleman to the lady.
"What nonsense!" murmured Nattie, laughing to herself; but' she put thepicture away in her writing desk as carefully as she might somecherished memento.