Mary Ware's Promised Land
CHAPTER VI
TOLD IN LETTERS
On the way to the post-office next morning, Mary determined that if sheshould meet Pink there, as she sometimes did, not even the flicker of aneyelash should show that she remembered last night's conversation. Butwhen she saw the back of a familiar fur overcoat through the post-officewindow, she felt the color rush into her face.
When she went in, not only was she conscious from his greeting that _he_remembered, but the look in his eyes said as plainly as words that thename which he kept for her alone had risen almost to his lips. It madeher uncomfortable, but she was burning with curiosity to know what thatname could be.
There were several people in the line ahead of her, and Pink emptied hislocked box before her turn came at the window. She knew that he waswaiting outside the door for her, so, when she passed him, she waspurposely absorbed in opening the only letter which had fallen to hershare. It was a tough-fibred envelope, hard to tear, and her heavilygloved hands made clumsy work of it. Finally she thrust a forefingerunder the flap and wrenched it apart. A ragged scrap of yellowed paperfluttered out on to the step. Pink stooped and handed it to her.
"Why, how queer! That's all there is in the envelope," she exclaimed,shaking it, then holding out the jagged bit of paper so that Pink couldexamine it with her. It was only a scrap torn from a sheet of music, orsome old song-book. They read the bars together:
Music: Oh! why art thou silent thou voice of my heart?]
If Mary had not been so busy puzzling over why it had been sent, shewould have seen a dull red creep into Pink's face, as he recognized itas a line from _Kathleen Mavourneen_, the song which he told Mary thenight before he always regarded as hers.
Suddenly she laughed. "Of course! I see it now! It's just Phil's cuteway of reminding me that I owe him a letter. Once, when Jack had notwritten for months, Phil called his attention to the silence by sendinga postal with just a big question mark on it. But this is a muchbrighter way."
"Yes, I see a few things too," said Pink stiffly. "I'd forgotten thatthat fellow down in Mexico is named Philip. So _he's_ the only person inthe world you consider the name belongs to--and he calls you--_that!_"
His ringer pointed to the last five words under the bar of music.
"He's the only one I've ever known by that name," began Mary, surprisedby the unaccountable change in his manner, and unaware that it was aswift flash of jealousy which caused it. To her amazement he turnedabruptly and walked away without even a curt "good morning."
She glanced after him in surprise, wondering at his abrupt leave-taking.He was unmistakably offended about something. Sara Downs had told hermore than once that he was the most foolishly sensitive person she hadever known, continually getting his feelings hurt over nothing, but thiswas the first time Mary had ever had an exhibition of his sensitiveness.Conscious that she had done nothing at which a reasonable person couldtake offence, she looked after him with a desire to shake him for suchchildishness. Then with a shrug of her shoulders she turned and startedhomeward.
"That was such a bright, original way for Phil to remind me," shethought, glancing again at the scrap of music. "And it is so absolutelysilly of Pink to say in such a tragic tone, 'And he called you _that_!'There is nothing more personal in Phil's saying 'thou voice of my heart'than there would be in his calling me 'Old Dog Tray' or a scrap of anyother song. He's always roaring questions at people in the shape of bitsof music. But, of course, Pink doesn't know that," she added a momentafterward, wanting to be perfectly honest in her judgment of him. "Buteven if he doesn't, it's none of his business what anybody calls me."
The episode, trifling as it was, made a difference in the answer thatshe sent to Phil. Instead of trying to reply to his questions seriously,as she had intended to do, she was so disdainful of Pink's behavior thatshe concluded to ignore all mention of him. As she passed the Moredockhouse, a phonograph, playing away inside for the amusement of little Don,brayed out a rag-time refrain: "I want what I want, _when I want it_!"
Suddenly the inspiration seized her to answer Phil's reminder of hersilence in his own way. She would make a medley of fragments of songs.How to begin it puzzled her, for the only song she could think of,containing his name, was "Philip, my King," and she dismissed thatimmediately, as impossible. All the way home she whistled under herbreath bits of old melodies, one suggesting another, until she had along list, and she made haste to write them down, for fear she mightforget. From the back of an old dog-eared guitar instructor, which shefound in the book-case, she copied many titles of ballads, and amongthem came across the line, "Friend of my soul, the goblet sip." It wasone which she knew Phil was familiar with, for she remembered havingheard him sing it at the Wigwam. So she promptly chose the first fourwords as the ones with which to commence. The first part of the letterran somewhat after this fashion:
"LONE-ROCK (NOT) BY THE SEA.
"'FRIEND OF MY SOUL':--'The day is cold and dark and dreary.' 'In the gloaming,' 'The swallows homeward fly.' 'The daily question is,' 'What's this dull town to me?' 'Tell me not in mournful numbers' that 'I'd better bide a wee.' 'Oh, 'tis not true!' 'I hear the angel voices calling' 'Where the sun shines bright on my old Kentucky home,' and 'I want what I want _when I want it_.'"
It took an entire evening to evolve a letter which suited her, andalthough it was utter foolishness, she managed to give the news and toconvey through the cleverly combined titles the fact that she was stillstruggling to get away from Lone-Rock, that there was no "swain amangthe train" to keep her from "going back to Dixie" "in the sweet bye andbye." She also found a way to make complimentary mention of BonnieEloise.
That was the last evening, however, which she devoted to trivial thingsfor many weeks. For Jack came home next noon greatly troubled overconditions at the office. The bookkeeper was down with pneumonia. Therewas no one who could step into his place but Jack, and he already hadhis hands full with his own responsibilities and duties.
"It is the correspondence which worries me most," he said. "We haven'thad enough of that kind of work, so far, to justify us hiring astenographer, but some days the mail is so heavy that it keeps mepounding on the typewriter an hour or more. Now, Mary, if you had onlyadded shorthand to your many accomplishments, there'd be a fine chancefor you to help hold the fort till Bailey gets well."
"I can help do it, anyhow," she declared promptly. "I know how businessletters ought to sound--'Yours of recent date' and 'enclosed herewithplease find' and all that sort of thing. I can scratch off in pencil asort of outline of what you want said, and then take my time copying iton the machine."
Past experience had taught the family that whenever Mary attemptedanything with the eagerness with which she proposed this plan, shealways carried it through triumphantly, and Jack's face showed hisrelief as he promptly accepted her offer.
"No use for you to come down this afternoon," he said. "I'll be too busylooking after other things to give any time to letters."
"But I can be making the acquaintance of the machine," answered Mary."Madam Chartley's stenographer learned to run hers simply by studyingthe book of instructions. And if it won't bother you to hear me clickingaway I'll put in the whole afternoon practising."
"SEVERAL TIMES SHE STOPPED JACK IN PASSING TO ASK HIM AQUESTION."]
So when Jack went back to the office, Mary went with him, happy andexcited over this unexpected entrance into the world of Business.
"Who knows but what this may be a stepping-stone into a successfulcareer?" she exclaimed. "Why didn't I think of applying to you for aposition in the very beginning? It would have saved a world of worry anddisappointment, and a small fortune in postage stamps."
He had time for only a short explanation of the machine before he wascalled away, but the book of instructions was clear and concise. Shestudied the illustrations and diagrams for awhile with her wholeattention concentrated on them. Accustomed to picking
up new crochetstitches and following intricate patterns from printed directions, itwas an easy matter for her to master the intricacies of the new machine.Several times she stopped Jack in passing to ask him a question aboutsome movement or adjustment, but in the main she experimented until shecould answer her own questions.
In a little while she could shift the ribbon or flip a sheet of paper inand out with the ease of an expert. Then she began studying thekeyboard, to learn the position of the letters, and after that it wasonly a question of practice to gain speed. Fingers that had learnednimbleness and accuracy of touch in other fields, did not lag long here.Hour after hour she sat at the machine, practising finger exercises aspatiently as if the keys were the ivories of a grand piano.
The next letter which she sent to Phil, some days later, was such acontrast to the musical medley that it did not seem possible that theyhad been written by the same person.
"LONE-ROCK, ARIZONA, April 2d.
"MR. PHILIP TREMONT, "Necaxa, Mexico.
"DEAR SIR: Your favor of the 24th ult. duly received and contents noted. I am much gratified with your reference to my last epistle, and your hearty encore, but I can give no more musical monologues at present. I am engaged as Corresponding Secretary in the office of the Lone-Rock Mining Company. Corresponding Secretary may be too grand a name to give my humble position, but it comes nearer to describing it than any that I can think of.
"First I came in just to help Jack out, while his chief was away and the bookkeeper ill. I helped him with the correspondence and all sorts of odds and ends, and between times practised typewriting, till now I can take dictation on the machine when he speaks at a moderately slow pace.
"Yesterday he received a telegram calling him East to a special directors' meeting, to report on something unexpected that has recently developed out here. So I'm to stay on at the office while he is gone, _on a salary_! A very modest one it is to be sure, but it is bliss to feel that at last I have found a paying position, no matter how small it is. Isn't it queer? Lone-Rock is the last place on the planet where a girl like me would expect to find anything of the sort to do. Mr. Headley, the chief, is back, of course, or Jack couldn't leave, and I'm watching my opportunity to make myself so useful around the office that they'll all wonder how they ever 'kept house' so long without me.
"Mr. Bailey's pneumonia has been blessed to me if not to him, for it has broken the spell, or hoo-doo, or whatever it was that thwarted all my efforts. Fortune's 'turn' is slowly approaching. Let it come when it will I can now meet it like the winged spur of my ancestors, with the cry 'Ready! Aye, ready!'
"Trusting that this explanation is satisfactory, and that we may be favored by a reply at your earliest convenience, I have the honor to remain,
"Yours very truly, "M. WARE.
"(P.S. I must ask you to observe the very tasty manner in which this is typed.)"
The next letter from Mary to Phil was hastily scribbled in pencil.
"DEAR PHIL:--Jack came home yesterday with a bit of news for the Ware family, which set it into a wild commotion, to say the least. Nobody but the family is to know it for awhile, but I am going to tell you because you're sort of 'next of kin.' Jack said I might, but you mustn't send your congratulations until you are officially notified.
"When Jack went East to that directors' meeting he stopped over Sunday in Lloydsboro Valley, and Betty was home from Warwick Hall on her Easter vacation, and he saw her again, and well--_they're engaged!_ Isn't it perfectly lovely? I've known for a long time that they have been corresponding. They began it over _me_ while I was at Warwick Hall. It will probably be a long time before they are married. Betty will finish teaching this term at Warwick Hall and then go back to Locust for awhile. Jack is to be promoted to Mr. Headley's place next fall, and I _think_ the grand event will take place the following spring, a year from now.
"You know Betty, and what a perfectly darling saint she is, so I needn't tell you how the entire family rejoices over Jack's good fortune, although we _do_ think too, that she is equally fortunate to have Jack and--_us_. Don't you?"
It was May before another letter found its way from Lone-Rock to thelittle station up in the mountains of Mexico, to which Phil sent a dailymessenger on mule-back for his mail. Mary wrote it in the office whilewaiting for Jack to come in again and go on with his dictation. It hadbeen interrupted in the middle by some outside matter which called himaway from his desk for nearly an hour.
"No," she began, "I must confess that it isn't lack of time which haskept me so long from answering your last letter, but merely lack ofnews. Mr. Bailey is back at his post now as good as new after his spellof pneumonia. I had a busy month while he was out, but now there isn'tenough for me to do to justify their keeping me more than an hour or soeach morning.
"I am glad to have that much of a position however, for it adds a trifleevery week to my bank account, and breaks into the monotony of the daysmore than you can imagine. I come down just after the morning train getsin and stay long enough to attend to the day's correspondence. Usuallyit takes about an hour.
"I haven't written for some time because there was nothing to tell. Ofcourse the mountains are beautiful in this perfect May weather, but youwouldn't want to read pages of description. There has been nothing goingon socially since the Valentine party. Pink Upham used to stir up thingsquite often, but he seems to be very much absorbed in his businesslately, and I rarely see him. Occasionally I go for a tramp up themountains with Norman and Billy, and we went fishing twice last week,and cooked our lunch on the creek bank.
"But if we are not doing things ourselves we are enjoying the activitiesof our friends. Have I ever told you that Lieutenant Boglin is now inthe Philippines? He sent me a bunch of photographs from there last weekthat make me wild to see the place. And Roberta is abroad with herfamily and is having adventures galore in London.
"Gay is having all sorts of good times at the post, and even old Mr. andMrs. Barnaby up in Bauer are planning for a trip to the Pacific coast.
"Joyce and Miss Henrietta have shut up the studio for a few weeks, andhave gone to Tours to join Cousin Kate and sketch awhile in that lovelychateau region. And that reminds me of the question you asked in yourlast letter about Jules Ciseaux. I wonder how you happened to think ofhim. He came to America last year just as he had expected to do, but hegot no farther than New York. Joyce told us all about him when she washome last Christmas. She says he has grown up to be a wonderfullyinteresting young fellow, slim and dark, with a most distinguished airand courtly manner. Something called him back to France before he madehis Western trip, and he lamented to her that he could not meet her'young sister Marie,' whom he 'pictured to be most charming andaccomplished.' But I suppose it's destined that we shall never see eachother, for he's married now to a little artist whom he met in Paris whenhe was studying there. He came across her again in New York, and Joycesays she knows now that that is what took him back again so suddenly toParis. The girl was just starting, and he took passage on the samesteamer. They are living now in the home of his ancestors behind thegreat Gate of the Giant Scissors, and Joyce was entertained there atdinner one night, and was charmed with young Mrs. Jules. She says theyare as happy as two Babes in Candyland.
"Oh, I've just thought--I _am_ doing something, although it may notappeal to your masculine mind as anything worth mentioning. Mamma and Iare both at work on some beautiful embroidery for Betty. It is so f
ineand intricate that we can only do a little at a time, but it is a laborof love, like the touches the old monks used to put on their illuminatedmissals. Nothing can be too fine and dainty for our dear Betty, and weare counting the months until we can really claim her. Do you supposeyou will be back in the States by that time? I truly hope so. In themeantime don't forget your old friends of the Wigwam days, andespecially, _this_ member of the House of Ware."