Читать книгу The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him - Paul Leicester Ford - Страница 11

JUNE 7TH.

MY DEAR HELEN—

Between your Pater and my Peter, it has taken an amount of diplomacy to achieve the scheme we planned last summer, which would be creditable to Palmerston at his palmiest and have made Bismarck even more marked than he is. But the deed, the mighty deed is done, and June twenty-ninth will see chum and me at the Shrubberies "if it kills every cow in the barn," which is merely another way of saying that in the bright lexicon of youth, there's no such word as fail.

Now a word as to the fellow you are so anxious to meet. I have talked to you so much about him, that you will probably laugh at my attempting to tell you anything new. I'm not going to try, and you are to consider all I say as merely a sort of underlining to what you already know. Please remember that he will never take a prize for his beauty—nor even for his grace. He has a pleasing way with girls, not only of not talking himself, but of making it nearly impossible for them to talk. For instance, if a girl asks me if I play croquet, which by the way, is becoming very passé (three last lines verge on poetry) being replaced by a new game called tennis, I probably say, "No. Do you?" In this way I make croquet good for a ten minutes' chat, which in the end leads up to some other subject. Peter, however, doesn't. He says "No," and so the girl can't go on with croquet, but must begin a new subject. It is safest to take the subject-headings from an encyclopædia, and introduce them in alphabetical order. Allow about ninety to the hour, unless you are brave enough to bear an occasional silence. If you are, you can reduce this number considerably, and chum doesn't mind a pause in the least, if the girl will only look contented. If she looks worried, however, Peter gets worried, too. Just put the old chap between you and your mamma at meals, and pull him over any rough spots that come along. You, I know, will be able to make it easy for him. Neglect me to any extent. I shan't be jealous, and shall use that apparent neglect as an excuse for staying on for a week after he goes, so as to have my innings. I want the dear old blunderbuss to see how nice a really nice girl can be, so do your prettiest to him, for the sake of

WATTS CLARKSON D'ALLOI.

When Watts and Peter saved the "cows in the barn" by stepping off the train on June 29th, the effect of this letter was manifest. Watts was promptly bestowed on the front seat of the trap with Mr. Pierce, while Peter was quickly sitting beside a girl on the back seat. Of course an introduction had been made, but Peter had acquired a habit of not looking at girls, and as a consequence had yet to discover how far Miss Pierce came up to the pleasant word-sketch Watts had drawn of her. Indeed, Peter had looked longingly at the seat beside Mr. Pierce, and had attempted, in a very obvious manner, though one which seemed to him the essence of tact and most un-apparent, to have it assigned to him. But two people, far his superior in natural finesse and experience, had decided beforehand that he was to sit with Helen, and he could not resist their skilful manoeuvres. So he climbed into place, hoping that she wouldn't talk, or if that was too much to expect, that at least Watts would half turn and help him through.

Neither of these fitted, however, with Miss Pierce's plans. She gave Peter a moment to fit comfortably into his seat, knowing that if she forced the running before he had done that, he would probably sit awry for the whole drive. Then: "I can't tell you how pleased we all are over Watts's success. We knew, of course, he could do it if he cared to, but he seemed to think the attempt hardly worth the making, and so we did not know if he would try."

Peter breathed more easily. She had not asked a question, and the intonation of the last sentence was such as left him to infer that it was not his turn to say something; which, Peter had noticed, was the way in which girls generally ended their remarks.

"Oh, look at that absurd looking cow," was her next remark, made before Peter had begun to worry over the pause.

Peter looked at the cow and laughed. He would like to have laughed longer, for that would have used up time, but the moment he thought the laugh could be employed in place of conversation, the laugh failed. However, to be told to look at a cow required no rejoinder, so there was as yet no cause for anxiety.

"We are very proud of our roads about here," said Miss Pierce. "When we first bought they were very bad, but papa took the matter in hand and got them to build with a rock foundation, as they do in Europe."

Three subjects had been touched upon, and no answer or remark yet forced upon him. Peter thought of rouge et noir, and wondered what the odds were that he would be forced to say something by Miss Pierce's next speech.

"I like the New England roadside," continued Miss Pierce, with an apparent relativeness to the last subject that delighted Peter, who was used by this time to much disconnection of conversation, and found not a little difficulty in shifting quickly from one topic to another. "There is a tangled finish about it that is very pleasant. And in August, when the golden-rod comes, I think it is glorious. It seems to me as if all the hot sunbeams of the summer had been gathered up in—excuse the expression—it's a word of Watts's—into 'gobs' of sunshine, and scattered along the roads and fields."

Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for a response, but concluded that it didn't.

"Papa told me the other day," continued Miss Pierce, "that there were nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod. I had never noticed that there were any differences."

Peter began to feel easy and comfortable. He made a mental note that Miss Pierce had a very sweet voice. It had never occurred to Peter before to notice if a girl had a pleasant voice. Now he distinctly remembered that several to whom he had talked—or rather who had talked to him—had not possessed that attraction.

"Last year," said Miss Pierce, "when Watts was here, we had a golden-rod party. We had the whole house decked with it, and yellow lamps on the lawn."

"He told me about it," said Peter.

"He really was the soul of it," said Miss Pierce, "He wove himself a belt and chaplet of it and wore it all through the evening. He was so good-looking!"

Peter, quite unconscious that he had said anything, actually continued: "He was voted the handsomest man of the class."

"Was he really? How nice!" said Miss Pierce.

"Yes," said Peter. "And it was true." Peter failed to notice that a question had been asked, or that he had answered it. He began to think that he would like to look at Miss Pierce for a moment. Miss Pierce, during this interval, remarked to herself: "Yes. That was the right way, Helen, my dear."

"We had quite a houseful for our party," Miss Pierce remarked, after this self-approval. "And that reminds me that I must tell you about whom you meet to-day." Then the next ten minutes were consumed in naming and describing the two fashionable New York girls and their brother, who made the party then assembled.

During this time Peter's eyes strayed from Watts's shapely back, and took a furtive glance at Miss Pierce. He found that she was looking at him as she talked, but for some reason it did not alarm him, as such observation usually did. Before the guests were properly catalogued, Peter was looking into her eyes as she rambled on, and forgot that he was doing so.

The face that he saw was not one of any great beauty, but it was sweet, and had a most attractive way of showing every change of mood or thought. It responded quickly too, to outside influence. Many a girl of more real beauty was less popular. People liked to talk to Miss Pierce, and many could not escape from saying more than they wished, impelled thereto by her ready sympathy. Then her eyes were really beautiful, and she had the trimmest, dearest little figure in the world; "squeezable" was the word Watts used to describe it, and most men thought the same. Finally, she had a pleasant way of looking into people's eyes as she talked to them, and for some reason people felt very well satisfied when she did.

It had this effect upon Peter. As he looked down into the large gray eyes, really slate-color in their natural darkness, made the darker by the shadows of the long lashes, he entirely forgot place and circumstances; ceased to think whose turn it was to speak; even forgot to think whether he was enjoying the moment. In short he forgot himself and, what was equally important, forgot that he was talking to a girl. He felt and behaved as he did with men. "Moly hoses!" said Watts to himself on the front seat, "the old fellow's getting loquacious. Garrulity must be contagious, and he's caught it from Mr. Pierce." Which, being reduced to actual facts, means that Peter had spoken eight times, and laughed twice, in the half hour that was passed between the station and the Shrubberies' gate.