Читать книгу Courtin' Christina - J. J. Bell - Страница 7

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Macgregor’s acquaintance with Jessie Mary was almost as old as himself; yet only within the last three months had he recognised her existence as having aught of importance to do with his own. This recognition had followed swift on the somewhat sudden discovery that Jessie Mary was pretty.

The discovery was made at a picnic, organised by a section of the great drapery store wherein Jessie Mary found employment, Macgregor’s presence at the outing being accounted for by the fact that in a weak moment he had squandered a money gift from his grandparents on the purchase of two tickets for Katie, his first love (so far as we know), and himself. The picnic was a thorough success, but neither Macgregor nor Katie enjoyed it. It was not so much that anything came between them, as that something that had been between them departed—evaporated. There was no quarrel; merely a dulness, a tendency to silence, increasing in dreariness as the bright day wore on. And, at last, in the railway compartment, on the way home, they sat, crushed together by the crowd, Katie dumb with dismay, Macgregor steeped in gloom.

Opposite them sat Jessie Mary and her escort, a young man with sleek hair, a pointed nose, several good teeth, and a small but exquisite black moustache. These two were gay along with the majority of the occupants of the carriage. Perhaps in her simple sixteen-year-old heart Katie began to realise that she was deserted indeed; perhaps Macgregor experienced prickings of shame, not that he had ever given or asked promises. Still, it is to be hoped that he did not remember then any of Katie’s innocent little advances of the past.

Affection ’twixt youth and youth is such a delicate, sensitive thing, full of promise as the pretty egg of a bonny bird, and as easily broken.

Macgregor was caught by the vivacious dark eyes of Jessie Mary, snared by her impudent red mouth, held by the charm of her face, which the country sun had tinted with an unwonted bloom. Alas for the little brown mouse at his side! At briefer and briefer intervals he allowed his gloomy glance to rest on the girl opposite, while he became more and more convinced that the young man with the exquisite moustache was a “bletherin’ idiot.” Gradually he shifted his position to the very edge of the seat, so as to lessen his contact with Katie. And when Jessie Mary, without warning, presented to his attention her foot in its cheap, stylish shoe, saying: “I wish ye wud tie ma lace, Macgreegor,” a strange wild thrill of pride ran through his being, though, to be sure, he went scarlet to the ears and his fingers could scarce perform their office. There were friends of Jessie Mary who declared that Macgregor never would have noticed her at all that day had she not been wearing a white frock with a scarlet belt; but that was grossly unfair to Jessie Mary. The animation and fresh coquetry of eighteen were also hers.

Nigh three months had gone, autumn had come, and here in a dingy side-street the captivated youth had lingered on the bare chance of a glimpse of the same maiden in her every-day attire, his mind tormented by his doubts as to his reception, should she happen to appear.

* * * * *

And now she was approaching him. For the life of him he could neither advance nor retire. Still, such of his wits as had remained faithful informed him that it was “stupid-like” to do nothing at all. Whereupon he drew out his watch and appeared to be profoundly interested in the time. At the supreme moment of encounter his surprise was, it must be confessed, extremely badly managed, and he touched his cap with the utmost diffidence and without a word.

“Hullo!” Jessie Mary remarked carelessly. “Fancy meetin’ you, as the man said to the sassige roll!”

It had been a mutton-pie at their last meeting, Macgregor remembered, trying to laugh. Some comfort might have been his had he known that this flippancy, or its variant, was her form of greeting to all the young men then enjoying her acquaintance. Jessie Mary usually kept a joke going for about three months, and quite successfully, too.

“Did ye no’ expec’ to meet me?” He stumbled over the words.

Jessie Mary laughed lightly, mockingly. “I wasna aware yer best girl lived in this street.”

“It—it’s no’ the first time ye’ve seen me here,” he managed to say.

She laughed again. “Weel, that’s true. I wonder wha the girl is.” He would have told her if he could, poor boy. “But I must hurry,” she went on, “or the shops’ll be shut.”

“Can I no’ gang wi’ ye?” he asked, with a great effort.

“Oh, ye can come as far as Macrorie’s,” she answered graciously, mentioning a provision shop.

Young love is ever grateful for microscopic mercies, and Macgregor’s spirit took courage as he fell into step with her. Jessie Mary was a handsomely built young woman; her shoulder was quite on a level with his. There were times when he would fain have been taller; times, also, when he would fain have been older, for Jessie Mary’s years exceeded his own by two. Nevertheless, he was now thinking of her age without reference to his own. He was, in fact, about to speak of it, when Jessie Mary said:

“I’m to get to the United Ironmongers’ dance on Friday week, after a’. When fayther was at his tea the nicht, he said I could gang.”

She might as well have poured a jug of ice water over him. “Aw, did he?” he murmured feebly.

“Ye should come, Macgreegor,” she continued. “Only three-an’-six for a ticket admittin’ lady an’ gent.”

“Och, I’m no’ heedin’ aboot dancin’,” said Macgregor, knowing full well that his going was out of the question.

“It’ll be a splendid dance. They’ll keep it up till three,” she informed him.

With his heart in his mouth he enquired who was taking her to the dance.

“Oh, I ha’ena decided yet.” She gave her head a becoming little toss. “I’ve several offers. I’ll let them quarrel in the meantime.”

Perhaps it was some consolation to know that she had not decided on any particular escort, and that the rivals were at war with one another. While there is strife there is hope.

“Ay; ye’ll ha’e plenty offers,” he managed to say steadily, and felt rather pleased with himself.

“I’m seriously thinking o’ wearin’ pink,” she told him as they turned into the main street. “It’s maybe a wee thing common, but I’ve been told it suits me.”

Macgregor wondered who had told her, and stifling his jealousy, observed that pink was a bonny colour.... “But—but ye wud look fine in ony auld thing.” Truly he was beginning to get on.

So, at least, Jessie Mary seemed to think. “Nane o’ yer flattery!” she said with a coquettish laugh.

“I wud like fine to see ye at the dance,” he said with a sigh.

“Come—an’ I’ll gi’e ye a couple o’ dances—three, if I can spare them.” Hitherto Jessie Mary had regarded Macgregor as a mere boy, and sometimes as a bit of a nuisance, but she was the sort of young woman who cannot have too many strings to her bow. “I can get ye a ticket,” she added encouragingly.

For an instant it occurred to Macgregor to ask her to let him take her to the dance—he would find the money somehow—but the idea died in its birth. He could not both go to the dance and do that which he had already promised himself to do. Besides, she might laugh at him and refuse.

“It’s nae use speakin’ aboot the dance,” he said regretfully. Then abruptly: “Yer birthday’s on Tuesday week, is’t no’?”

Jessie Mary looked at him. His eyes were on the pavement. “Wha tell’t ye that?”

“I heard ye speakin’ aboot yer birthday to somebody at the picnic.”

“My! ye’ve a memory!”

“But it’s on Tuesday week—the twinty-third? I was wantin’ to be sure.”

“Weel, it’s the twinty-third, sure enough.” She heaved an affected sigh. “Nineteen! I’m gettin’ auld, Macgreegor. Time I was gettin’ a lad! Eh?” She laughed at his confusion of face. “But what for d’ye want to ken aboot ma birthday?” she innocently enquired, becoming graver.

The ingenuousness of the question helped him.

“Aw, I jist wanted to ken, Jessie Mary. Never heed aboot it. I hope ye’ll enjoy the dance—when it comes.” This was quite a long speech for Macgregor to make, but it might have been even longer had they not just then arrived at the provision shop.

“Here we are,” said she cheerfully. She had the decency to ignore the smile of the young man behind the counter—the young man with the sharp nose and exquisite black moustache; nor did she appear to notice another young man on the opposite pavement who was also gazing quite openly at her. “Here we are, an’ here we part—to meet again, I hope,” she added, with a softer glance.

“I’ll wait till ye’ve got yer messages,” said Macgregor, holding his ground.

She gave him her sweetest smile but one. “Na, Macgreegor; it’ll tak’ me a while to get the messages, an’ I’ve ither places to gang afterwards. Maybe I’ll see ye floatin’ aroun’ anither nicht.”

“But I’m no’ in a hurry. I—I wish ye wud let me wait.”

Her very sweetest smile was reserved for the most stubborn cases, and she gave it him now. But her voice though gentle was quite firm. “If ye want to please me, Macgreegor, ye’ll no’ wait the nicht.”

He was conquered. She nodded kindly and entered the doorway.

“Guidbye, Jessie Mary,” he murmured, and turned away.

There were no other customers in the shop. Jessie Mary took a seat at the counter. The young man, stroking his moustache, gave her a good-evening tenderly.

“I’m to get to the dance,” she said, solemnly.

The young man’s hand fell to his side. “Wi’ me?” he cried, very eagerly.

“I ha’ena made up ma mind yet, Peter. I want a pair o’ kippers—the biggest ye’ve got.”