Mr. Stanwood sat down at the table where Nattie was looking over Cyn's album, and seemed to have become very thoughtful; Cyn meanwhile busied herself in dressing an ugly gash the ever-unfortunate Quimby had managed to inflict on his hand.
Suddenly Nattie was disturbed by Mr. Stanwood drumming with a pencil on the marble top of the table, and glancing up casually, observed his eyes fixed upon her with a peculiar expression, and at the same moment her ear seemed to catch a familiar sound. With a slight start she listened more attentively to his seemingly idle drumming. Yes—whether knowingly, or by accident, he certainly was making dots and dashes, and what is more, was making N's!
"I will soon ascertain if he means it or not!" thought Nattie, and seizing a pair of scissors, the only adaptable instrument handy, she drummed out, slowly, on account of the imperfectness of her impromptu key—pretending all the while to be entirely absorbed in the album,
Mr. Stanwood, in his turn, seemingly deeply engaged in the contents of a book, immediately drummed in response,
"Yes."
Nattie felt the color come into her face.
"Oh, dear!" she thought, "and Cyn told him that ridiculous story! Every operator in town will know it now." Then with the scissors she asked,
"Why didn't you say so? Where is your office?"
"I have none now," the pencil answered, while Cyn, glancing across the room, wondered to see the two so studious, and unsuspiciously asked Quimby if he supposed they were practicing for a drum corps? After a few meaningless dots, the pencil went on,
"A little girl at B m was dreadfully sold one day!"
The album Nattie held fell from her hands as she stared petrified at her vis-a-vis, who kept his eyes on his book with the most innocent expression imaginable, one that even a Chinaman could not have equaled. Where could he have heard those words, once so familiar? A moment's thought gave her the most probable key.
"You are in the main office of this city, and have heard me talking with
'C'!" she wrote, as fast as the scissors would let her.
"No, to the first of your surmise," came from the pencil, "and yes to the last."
"What office were you in?" the scissors asked.
"What! with 'C'?" asked the scissors, and if ever there was a pair of excited scissors, these were the ones.
"Well—yes," replied the pencil with provoking slowness. "Don't you 'C' the point? Can't you 'C' that you did not 'C' the 'C' you thought you did 'C' that day?"
Nattie's breath came fast, and her hand trembled so she could not hold the scissors. With a crash they dropped on the table, making one loud, long dash. But the imperturbable pencil went on calmly,
"It was all a mistake. I am—'C'!"
Disdaining scissors and pencil, Nattie started up, exclaiming vehemently,
"What do you mean? it can't be possible!"
The consternation of Cyn, who was just informing Quimby that his wound would do very well now, the horror of the patient, and the surprise of Jo Norton at this emphatic and unaccountable outburst from the hitherto so silent Nattie was indescribable.
"Good gracious, Nat! what in the world is the matter?" cried Cyn, starting up and bringing the bottle of liniment she held in violent contact with Quimby's head, a circumstance that even the victim did not notice, so absorbed was he in amazement.
At Nattie's exclamation, Mr. Stanwood threw aside his book, pencil, and innocent countenance together, and regardless of any one but her, sprang to his feet, advanced with both hands extended, and shining eyes, saying,
"I mean just what I said, it is possible!"
Hardly knowing what she did, utterly confused and bewildered, Nattie placed her hand in the two that clasped it, while Cyn stared with distended eyes, Quimby with wide-open mouth, and Jo gave a long whistle. Cyn was first to recover, and began to scold.
"Well," she exclaimed, "this is a pretty piece of business, never yet played on any stage, I should think! Nat, will you, or will somebody have the goodness to explain this sudden and extraordinary scene?"
"I—I don't understand!" Nattie murmured faintly, and looking half-frightened, and half-beseechingly at Mr. Stanwood, who in response smiled and said, with a firmer clasp of the hand he still held,
"I will explain in a very few moments how it is possible that I am the real 'C'!"
"What!!" absolutely yelled Quimby.
"There has been a mistake!" Mr. Stanwood said, now looking at Cyn.
"A mistake!" she repeated excitedly, "what do you mean? YOU 'C,' our
'C,' of the wire? Nonsense! You are joking!"
"Yes, he is joking!" Quimby reiterated, but his teeth chattered as he spoke. "He is a dreadful fellow to joke, Clem is!"
"Clem!" cried Cyn and Nattie, in the same breath.
"Do you begin to believe me?" said the gentleman who had caused all this disturbance, and looking at Nattic, who now, becoming conscious that her hand was yet in his, withdrew it hastily, with a deep blush.
"I don't know what to think!" cried Cyn.
"Do explain something, quick, or I shall burst a blood-vessel with impatience; I know I shall!" exclaimed Jo.
Mr. Stanwood complied, by saying,
"The fact of the case is simply this. That red-haired young man, so graphically described by you girls, that 'odious creature,' was the operator I went to substitute for that day!"
"Oh!" said Nattie, a light beginning to break upon her.
"I will tell you how, if you will be patient," Mr. Stanwood interrupted, smiling. "His office, as you," looking at Nattie, "remember, had once been on our wire. He had heard 'N' and I talking, and in fact had often annoyed us by breaking. So, as he was at the city, he took the opportunity to pass himself off for me; perhaps for the sake of a joke, perhaps from more malicious motives. I recognized his description at once, from your story to-day, and I remember, too, his telling me on his return, that he knew the best joke of the season; a remark I did not notice, never supposing it concerned me."
"Yes!" said Nattie, eagerly, "and he was very particular to ask me not to mention his call, on the wire."
"I do not suppose he imagined but we would eventually discover the fraud, however; and so we should, had not you," looking rather reproachfully at Nattie, "in your haste to drop so undesirable an acquaintance, avoided the least hint of the true cause. How the dickens was I to know what was the matter? I puzzled my brains enough over it, I assure you."
"And that red-headed impostor has been chuckling in his sleeve ever since, I suppose," said Cyn, indignantly; then seizing. Mr. Stanwood by the arms, she cried, in a transport of delight, "and it really is true? you are our 'C?'"
"What! am I not yet believed?" he questioned, laughing; "what more shall I do to convince you of my identity? you accepted our red-headed friend readily enough!"
"Oh! I believe you!" cried Nattie, eagerly; then stopped, and colored, abashed at her own so plainly shown delight.
But Mr. Stanwood looked at her with a gratified expression in his brown eyes.
"And you will not snub me any more, will you?" he said, pleadingly; "because I never use bear's grease or musk, and my hair isn't red a bit!"
"I will try and make amends," Nattie answered, shyly; adding, "I ought to have known there was some mistake. I never could reconcile that creature and—and 'C'!"
"Then I may flatter myself that I am an improvement?" asked Mr. Stanwood, merrily; at which Nattie murmured something about fishing for compliments, and Cyn replied gayly,
"Yes; because you have curly hair! You remember what I said on the wire, via Nat?"
"Could I forget?" he replied, gallantly.
"And it isn't a dream! You are 'C', the real 'C,'" replied Cyn, pinching herself, and then seizing Nattie, who, from the suddenness of it all was yet in a semi-bewildered state—there was not a bit of unhappiness in it, though—waltzed ecstatically around the room, crying, "Oh! I am so glad! I am so glad!"
At this point Quimby, who, during the preceding explanation had listened with a face illustrating every variety of consternation and dismay, attracted attention to himself by an audible groan, observing which, he muttered something about his "wound"—the word had a double meaning for him then, poor fellow!—and rising, came forward, took his friend by the shoulder, and asked, solemnly,
"Now, Clem—I—I beg pardon—but is it—is this all true, and—and not one of your jokes, you know? Honestly, are you that—that 'C'?"
"Here is a doubting Thomas for you!" cried Clem, gayly. "But, upon my word of honor, old boy, I truly and honestly am 'that C,' and I suppose you were the 'other visitor of no consequence,' who called with Miss Archer that day I was favored by an introduction to her. How little I thought it then!"
"How little I thought it!" groaned Quimby, as his hand fell dejectedly from Clem's shoulder. "But I—I am used to it, you know!" So saying he sank into a chair. That he had brought about such a result as this—that he had resurrected the dreaded "C" from the grave of musk and bear's grease was too much.
"But now that all is explained, I am really not sorry for the mistake," Clem said, utterly unconscious of his friend's state of mind. "For, had it not been for that I should never have learned, as I have to-day, from you two ladies, what a very interesting and agreeable fellow I am!" and he bowed profoundly, with a twinkle of merriment in his eyes.
"Over the wire," Nattie added, pointedly.
"Of course, over the wire!" he said, with another bow. "But it shall be my endeavor to make good my reputation, minus the wire!"
"You will have to work very hard to place Mr. Stanwood where 'C' was in our good graces!" said Cyn, archly.
"Then suppose we drop the Mr. Stanwood, and take up Clem, who already was somewhat advanced!" he said, adroitly.
"Ah! Clem sounds more natural, doesn't it, Nat?" questioned Cyn laughing; "we knew Clem and 'C,' but Mr. Stanwood is a stranger!"
"Then let us drop him by all means! and now say you are glad to see your old friend!" said Clem, gayly.
"We are transported with delight at beholding our Clem, so lately given up as lost forever!" Cyn replied with equal gayety; and Clem, then looking at Nattie, as if he expected her to say something also, she murmured,
"I am very glad to meet 'C,'" a remark that sounded cold beside that of enthusiastic Cyn. But in fact Nattie was so confused, so happy, and so strangely timid, that she longed to get away by herself and think it all over and quietly realize it; and besides, in her secret heart, Nattie felt a growing conviction that Cyn used the plural pronoun we more than previous circumstances actually warranted.
"But Nat," said Cyn, all unconscious of her friend's jealous criticism, "you have not yet told me how you found him out?"
"He telegraphed to me with a pencil on the table, and coolly informed me that he was 'C,'" Nattie explained.
"And then you jumped up and threw us uninitiated ones into a great state of alarm," said Cyn; "and instead of practicing for a drum corps, as I supposed, you were talking secretly, you sly creatures!" then turning to Clem, she asked, laughing, "what did you think when Nat dropped you so suddenly and completely?"
"What could I think, except that it was a caprice of hers," he answered, laughing. "At first I thought she was vexed at my having gone to B a, but she denied that, and finally I believe I became angry myself, and concluded to let her have her own way. Nevertheless, I could not resist calling to see her, when I came to the city, and had I met with any encouragement, I should probably have declared myself, but I was annihilated without ceremony."
"You would not have been, perhaps, had you been honest in the first place, instead of asking unnecessary questions about tariffs," replied Nattie.
"Yes, but you were to recognize me by intuition you know, and I wanted to give you a chance," responded Clem, quickly.
Nattie looked a trifle abashed.
"But I am quite sure I should have suspected it was you, had I not given you up as hopelessly red-headed," she persisted; "why, almost the very first question the creature asked was, 'do you see that twinkle?'"
"So he heard and treasured that remark to some purpose," he said; "well, I will not dispute your intuition theory, since your last words assure me that I do not fall so far short of your imaginary 'C,' as did my personator. I imagine your expression of countenance, on learning the intelligence, was hardly flattering to his vanity."
Nattie, who had colored at the first of his remark, replied contemptuously,
"His self-conceit was too great to attribute my very uncordial reception to anything except, as he said, 'my bashfulness.' I presume it has afforded him great enjoyment to think how successfully he stepped into your shoes, and what a joke he had played upon me."
"Upon us, you mean," corrected Clem.
"Certainly; upon us," Nattie replied, with another flush of color. "I remember how indifferent he seemed when I hinted that now we had met the chief pleasure of talking on the wire was gone. And I believe he didn't actually say in so many words that he was 'C,' but left me to understand it so."
"And I am indebted to him for being such a lonesome, miserable fellow the latter part of my telegraphic career," said Clem, rather savagely.
Nattie murmured something about the time passing pleasanter when there was some one to talk with, and Cyn asked, curiously,
"Then you have left the dot and dash business, have you?"
"Oh, yes. It was merely temporary with me," Clem replied; then seating himself on the sofa beside Nattie, and drawing a chair up for Cyn, between himself and Jo—Quimby being at the other end of the room, a prey to his emotions—Clem continued;
"The truth of the matter is simply this, my father, with a pig-headedness worthy of Eugene Wrayburn's M. R. F. in 'Our Mutual Friend,' determined to make a doctor of me, not on account of any qualifications of mine, but for the simple reason that a doctor is a good thing to have in a family. But I, having an intense dislike to the smell of drugs, a repugnance to knowing anything more than absolutely necessary about the 'ills that flesh is heir to,' and decided objections to having the sleep of my future life disturbed, declined, and at the same time expressed a desire to go into the store with him, and become a merchant. Upon which my most immediate ancestor waxed wroth, called me, in plain, unvarnished words, a fool; and a pretty one I was to set myself up against his will! I, who couldn't earn my salt without him to back me! Being of a contrary opinion myself, I determined to test my abilities in the salt line. I began," looking at Nattie, merrily, "by salting you!"—then explaining to Cyn, Jo, and the silent Quimby, "'Salt' is a term operators use, when one tries to send faster than the other can receive. I began my acquaintance with N by trying to 'salt' her. To go on with my narrative, I had learned to telegraph at college, where the boys had private wires from room to room, and being acquainted with one of the managers in our city, succeeded in obtaining that very undesirable office down there at X n, where I remained until my stern parent relented, concluded to hire a doctor instead of making one, and offered me the control of a branch of the firm here in your city. And here I am!"
"And isn't it strange how you should have stumbled upon us, feast and all?" said Cyn, laughing.
Nattie was again disturbed by the plural pronoun, and also angry at herself for observing it.
"Isn't it?" Clem answered merrily; "what a lucky fellow I am! You see, not being at all acquainted in the city, I hunted up my old college friend Quimby, who asked me to call on some lady friends of his, mentioning no names, which of course I was only too glad to do! Imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered who those friends were! But I don't know as I should have dared to reveal mvself, having been so often snubbed,"—With a roguish glance at Nattie— "if that story had not been told and the mystery solved. Imagine my dismay, though, at being called an 'odious creature,' and the surprise with which I listened to my own description! So earnest were you, that I actually, for a moment, thought my hair must have turned red!" and he ran his fingers through his curly locks with a rueful face.
The girls laughed, and Cyn exclaimed,
"What a pity it is you tore up that picture, Nat!"
"Yes," acquiesced Nattie, adding, in explanation, to Clem— "You remember that pen and ink sketch? My first act of vengeance was to destroy it!"
"Never mind, Jo will do another, will you not?" asked Clem, turning to that gentleman, who, upon being thus appealed to, arose, laid down the nutcracker he held, and said with the utmost solemnity,
"Jo is ready to draw anything. But Jo is aghast and horrified at being mixed even in the slightest degree with anything so near approaching the romantic, as the affair in question. What is the use of a fellow shaving off his hair, I would like to know, if such things as these will happen?"
"It is no use fighting against Nature!" laughed Cyn. "Romance always has been since the world was, and always will be, I suppose. Your turn will come, Jo! I have no doubt we shall see you a long haired, cadaverous, sentimental artist yet!"
"Never!" cried Jo heroically. "But you must confess that this affair is taking undue advantage of a fellow. A wired romance is something entirely unexpected!"
"And besides, viewed telegraphically, there is nothing at all romantic in the whole affair!" said Nattie, who, between her confusion at the turn the conversation had taken, and her alarm lest something should be said about that chubby Cupid—whom it will be remembered she had suppressed in her former description to "C "—was decidedly embarrassed.
Before Jo could express his satisfaction at this statement, Clem exclaimed, reproachfully,
"Oh! do not say that! not even to spare our friend's feelings can I deny the romance of our acquaintance."
"I quite agree with you," said Cyn; "I really believe Nat is going over to Jo's ideas. Never mind! just wait until your turn comes, you unsentimental Jo."
"Madam!" cried Jo, "when I find myself in the condition you describe, I will come and place the disposal of myself in your hands!" and he made her a profound bow.
There is many a true word spoken in jest, and none of the little party there assembled imagined how true, indeed, these words were to prove, as Cyn gayly answered,
"It is a bargain, Jo, and I shall have no mercy on you, I can assure you."
"And we must not forget that we are indebted to Quimby for the unraveling of all this mystery," said Nattie. She smiled on him where he sat, in his dismayed isolation, as she spoke, and although it was the warmest smile she had ever yet bestowed upon him, he was rendered no happier by its warmth.
"Yes, how fortunate it was, Clem, that you looked him up!" said Cyn.
Nattie wondered that she could pronounce the familiar name so easily.
She was quite sure she herself could not.
"Was it not?" exclaimed Clem, delightedly; "and what is better than all, I am coming here to room with him!" At this Jo shook him cordially by the hand, Cyn and Nattie gave exclamations of pleasure, and Quimby suddenly started into life. "I—I beg pardon," he said, hastily, "but I—I really—I though you said you had rather be farther down town, you know."
"Yes, that was my first inclination, but as you urged me so much, and as I find so many old friends here, I have concluded to accept your offer, my boy, so consider the matter settled," replied Clem.
And in his own entire satisfaction and unconsciousness, Clem did not observe but what Quimby looked as happy as might be expected, at this intelligence.
"'Oh, won't we have a jolly time,"' sang Cyn, and Clem, Nattie and
Jo—but not Quimby—took up the chorus.
And obtuse as he was, Quimby could not but observe that Nattie's eyes were shining in a way he had never seen them shine before, that the ever-coming and going flush on her cheeks was very becoming, and that there was an expression in her face, when she looked at Clem, that face had never held for him. Nor could he fail to think, that the romantic commencement of the acquaintance of these two, even the episode of the musk-scented impostor all now enhanced the interest Nattie had once felt for the invisible "C" neither did he need a prophet to tell him that the two girls would sit up half the night, talking confidentially over this unexpected and happy denouement, or even that Nattie's sleep would not be quite as sound as usual.
Love, it is said, is blind. So, to some things, perhaps, it is, but never to a rival.
And when at last Clem tore himself away, with the remark,
"What a fortunate day this has been! Quimby, my dear boy, how can I thank you? I shall take possession of my half of your apartment at once, to be sure no one shall again usurp my place; until then, au revoir!" and, in parting, perceptibly held Nattie's hand longer than was absolutely necessary, Quimby followed him with dejected mien, fully aware that of all the mistakes he had ever made he committed the worst, when he asked his old chum to call on some lady friends of his!