Wired Love, Ella Cheever Thayer [hot novels to read .txt] 📗

and with the involuntary thought, “what an excellent stage situation!” came from behind the door, where Quimby’s impetuous entrance had thrust her, saying, with as much ease as she could possibly gather together,

“Don’t be frightened at what you see, friend Quimby; we were only extemporizing a little feast, that is all. Will you join us?”

But Quimby only stared harder than ever; he was evidently struck speechless.

His companion, thus placed in the awkward position of an unintroduced intruder, withdrew his eyes from Nattie, took in the situation at a glance, and turning to Cyn, said, smiling,

“I think we owe you an apology for our intrusion; my friend Quimby, on whom I called to day, in pity for my being a stranger in the city, kindly offered to introduce me to some friends of his. He informed me we were expected, but I fear we have made a mistake.”

At this Quimby recovered his voice.

“No!” he cried, in stentorian tones, “it was not⁠—I cannot have made a mistake this time, you know! Cyn”⁠—looking at her reproachfully⁠—“you knew about it! I met you a short time ago, and asked you⁠—and you said we might come, you know!”

Half amazed and half amused, Cyn shook her head in denial, at which action Quimby started and turned pale.

“Why I⁠—I beg pardon⁠—but in the hall! you said, ‘certainly,’ you know!”

“Oh!” said Cyn, a light breaking in upon her. “I see, but I did not then understand you, I suppose;” rallying from her embarrassment, “my mind was so occupied with our feast, I was incapable of thinking of anything else; so please consider this an apology for the condition in which you find us, to yourself and your friend, whom, you will pardon me for reminding you, you have not introduced,” and Cyn looking laughingly at the stranger, who also laughed.

“Oh! I⁠—I beg pardon, I am sure, for⁠—for all my stupidities. I⁠—I am always doing something wrong, but I⁠—I am used to it, you know,” said the disconcerted Quimby; then wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he added clumsily, “my friend, Mr. Stanwood⁠—Cyn⁠—and Miss⁠—Miss Rogers.”

Mr. Stanwood gayly shook hands with Cyn, whom Quimby had nervously forgotten to honor with a Miss, and then advanced to Nattie, who had not stirred from her position as screen for the gas stove, saying,

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Rogers.”

And as Nattie accepted his proffered hand, in an embarrassed way, not yet being able to rise to the situation, and observed the peculiarly roguish expression with which he regarded her, she suddenly became aware that she had seen him on some previous occasion, but where she was utterly at loss to remember.

Cyn, too, was struck by something a little odd in his manner to Nattie, and glanced at him curiously, as she said in her most cordial tones,

“And now, gentlemen, as we have exchanged apologies all around, please be seated.”

Quimby immediately bounced up from the music-stool, on which, in his agitation, he had involuntarily dropped.

“Oh, no!” he exclaimed hastily. “We⁠—we did did not come to dinner, you know!”

Cyn smiled at Quimby’s anxiety to disclaim intentions no one thought of attributing to him, and turning to Mr. Stanwood, asked, thereby greatly scandalizing Nattie,

“But supposing you were invited to stay and share our banquet, would you?”

“Were I sure the invitation was heartfelt, I should be sorely tempted; wouldn’t you, Quimby?” Mr. Stanwood replied, easily.

Poor Quimby twirled his thumbs confusedly, and murmured something about leaving the ladies to enjoy their “feast” alone.

“We have eatables enough for six, as Nat was just now intimating,” went on Cyn, who certainly had a touch of true Bohemianism in her composition, as well as Jo Norton. “But our dishes, ‘ay, there’s the rub,’ ” and she laughingly held up the coffee-urn, while the less adaptable Nattie thought apprehensively of the propensity of things to cool.

Undaunted by the urn, Mr. Stanwood said, with humorous wistfulness, but looking at Nattie,

“You won’t force us to eat the dishes, will you? and that steak smells so nice, and I haven’t had any dinner!”

“Then away with ceremony and sit down to the banquet!” said the reckless Cyn, regardless of the protest in Nattie’s face; and truth to tell, the former young lady was not at all averse to this addition to their number.

And to the consternation of Quimby, and dismay of Nattie, and possibly a little to the surprise of Cyn, Mr. Stanwood replied by seating himself down in a rocking-chair, and saying gayly,

“I feel positive that I am about to enjoy myself as I have not since I was a boy, and stole eggs, and cooked them on a flat rock behind my uncle’s barn, and had raw turnip for dessert. Sit down, Quimby!”

Upon this Quimby, with a blushing protest against an intrusion, that did not seem to trouble his merry friend in the least, also sat down.

As he did so, Nattie screamed; but too late. On the crowning glory of the feast, on those enticing Charlotte Russes, crowded from the table on to a chair, there was Quimby!

“Bless my soul! what is the matter?” he asked, staring astounded at Nattie’s scream, but still sitting there, entirely of the ruin he had wrought.

Cyn’s anguish knew no bounds, as she saw what had happened.

“Get up!” she cried, wringing her hands, “can’t you get up? good gracious! don’t you know what you are sitting on?”

“Eh?” he queried, rising obediently, and looking at her with a blank expression. “Sitting on?” then following her frantic gesture, he turned and looked at the chair behind him, and instantly horror overspread his countenance.

“Bless my soul!” he gasped, turning round and round, trying to get a glimpse of his own coattails. “How did it come there? what is it?”

“It is⁠—was Charlotte Russe!” said Nattie, in gloomy despair.

“Charlotte Russe!” echoed Quimby, still turning himself around like a revolving light. “It⁠—it don’t look much like it, you know!”

At this, Mr. Stanwood, who had with difficulty suppressed his laughter until now, burst into an uncontrollable roar, in which he was joined by Cyn, and then by Nattie. They laughed until