The Lady of the Barge, W. W. Jacobs [feel good books to read txt] 📗

His toilet completed, he gave a satisfied glance in the glass, and then followed the man of war sedately downstairs. At the hall he paused, and busied himself with the clothes-brush and hat-pad, modestly informing his glaring friend that he could not afford to throw any chances away, and then took his departure.

The Major sat up late that night waiting for news, but none came, and by breakfast-time next morning his thirst for information became almost uncontrollable. He toyed with a chop and allowed his coffee to get cold. Then he clapped on his hat and set off to Halibut’s to know the worst.

“Well?” he inquired, as he followed the other into his dining-room.

“I went,” said Halibut, waving him to a chair.

“Am I to congratulate you?”

“Well, I don’t know,” was the reply; “perhaps not just yet.”

“What do you mean by that?” said the Major, irascibly.

“Well, as a matter of fact,” said Halibut, “she refused me, but so nicely and so gently that I scarcely minded it. In fact, at first I hardly realized that she had refused me.”

The Major rose, and regarding his poor friend kindly, shook and patted him lightly on the shoulder.

“She’s a splendid woman,” said Halibut. “Ornament to her sex,” remarked the Major.

“So considerate,” murmured the bereaved one.

“Good women always are,” said the Major, decisively. “I don’t think I’d better worry her today, Halibut, do you?”

“No, I don’t,” said Halibut, stiffly.

“I’ll try my luck tomorrow,” said the Major.

“I beg your pardon,” said Halibut.

“Eh?” said the Major, trying to look puzzled.

“You are forgetting the conditions of the game,” replied Halibut. “You have to obtain my permission first.”

“Why, my dear fellow,” said the Major, with a boisterous laugh. “I wouldn’t insult you by questioning your generosity in such a case. No, no, Halibut, old fellow, I know you too well.”

He spoke with feeling, but there was an anxious note in his voice.

“We must abide by the conditions,” said Halibut, slowly; “and I must inform you, Brill, that I intend to renew the attack myself.”

“Then, sir,” said the Major, fuming, “you compel me to say⁠—putting all modesty aside⁠—that I believe the reason Mrs. Riddel would have nothing to do with you was because she thought somebody else might make a similar offer.”

“That’s what I thought,” said Halibut, simply; “but you see now that you have so unaccountably⁠—so far as Mrs. Riddel is concerned⁠—dropped out of the running, perhaps, if I am gently persistent, she’ll take me.”

The Major rose and glared at him.

“If you don’t take care, old chap,” said Halibut, tenderly, “you’ll burst something.”

“Gently persistent,” repeated the Major, staring at him; “gently persistent.”

“Remember Bruce and his spider,” smiled the other.

“You are not going to propose to that poor woman nine times?” roared his incensed friend.

“I hope that it will not be necessary,” was the reply; “but if it is, I can assure you, my dear Brill, that I’m not going to be outclassed by a mere spider.”

“But think of her feelings!” gasped the Major.

“I have,” was the reply; “and I’m sure she’ll thank me for it afterward. You see, Brill, you and I are the only eligibles in the place, and now you are out of it, she’s sure to take me sooner or later.”

“And pray how long am I to wait?” demanded the Major, controlling himself with difficulty.

“I can’t say,” said Halibut; “but I don’t think it’s any good your waiting at all, because if I see any signs that Mrs. Riddel is waiting for you I may just give her a hint of the hopelessness of it.”

“You’re a perfect Mephistopheles, sir!” bawled the indignant Major. Halibut bowed.

“Strategy, my dear Brill,” he said, smiling; “strategy. Now why waste your time? Why not make some other woman happy? Why not try her companion, Miss Philpotts? I’m sure any little assistance⁠—”

The Major’s attitude was so alarming that the sentence was never finished, and a second later the speaker found himself alone, watching his irate friend hurrying frantically down the path, knocking the blooms off the geraniums with his cane as he went. He saw no more of him for several weeks, the Major preferring to cherish his resentment in the privacy of his house. The Major also refrained from seeing the widow, having a wholesome dread as to what effect the contemplation of her charms might have upon his plighted word.

He met her at last by chance. Mrs. Riddel bowed coldly and would have passed on, but the Major had already stopped, and was making wild and unmerited statements about the weather.

“It is seasonable,” she said, simply.

The Major agreed with her, and with a strong-effort regained his composure.

“I was just going to turn back,” he said, untruthfully; “may I walk with you?”

“I am not going far,” was the reply.

With soldierly courage the Major took this as permission; with feminine precision Mrs. Riddel walked about fifty yards and then stopped. “I told you I wasn’t going far,” she said sweetly, as she held out her hand. “Goodbye.”

“I wanted to ask you something,” said the Major, turning with her. “I can’t think what it was.”

They walked on very slowly, the Major’s heart beating rapidly as he told himself that the lady’s coldness was due to his neglect of the past few weeks, and his wrath against Halibut rose to still greater heights as he saw the cruel position in which that schemer had placed him. Then he made a sudden resolution. There was no condition as to secrecy, and, first turning the conversation on to indoor amusements, he told the astonished Mrs. Riddel the full particulars of the fatal game. Mrs. Riddel said that she would never forgive them; it was the most preposterous thing she had ever heard of. And she demanded hotly whether she was to spend the rest of her life in refusing Mr. Halibut.

“Do you play high as a rule?” she inquired, scornfully.

“Sixpence a game,” replied the Major, simply.

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