For a week Maxwell's chief occupation was what Farrington described as "concentrated musing." He walked much. One afternoon he was strolling along the narrow beach, which lay, a sandy stretch, between the water and a tree-grown gra.s.sy ledge, about fifteen feet in height, which was a favorite place of rest and outlook for the hotel guests. He was looking downward, but there came a moment when the heavens fell. Chancing to look upward to determine if any of the usual idlers there were of a companionable sort for him, he saw that which turned aside the current of his life as easily as an avalanche may turn a rivulet.

There, projecting a little beyond the crest-crowning gra.s.s and greenery of the ledge above, was something trim and gloriously purple and gloriously perfect. The tan of the neatest of number three shoes blended upward into the purple paradise, and from the tan seemed growing a snowy spray of lilies-of-the-valley. Delicate is the subject, but it must be treated. Delicate is the making of a watch, but we must have watches; eggs are delicate, but we must eat them; goldfish are delicate, but we must lift them by hand occasionally. Duty first!

Perfect the exterior of that wondrous stocking, perfect, absolutely so, but its contour and its contents! Ah, me! The flat, thin ankle--let Arabian fillies hide their heads! The even upward swell--just full enough, just trim enough, revealed, but not in view, as one sees things by starlight. Ah, me!

Maxwell's eyes dimmed and he reeled. What is known as locomotor ataxia smote him there suddenly in his prime and pride of life. Then after a moment or two a degree of health came back and he turned and retraced his steps, feebly at first, then more rapidly, and then as hies the antlered stag. He gained the ledge and followed it and found Miss Ward seated demurely at its very crest and surrounded by a group of friends.

Within three months he owned, after the wedding, not merely what was left of one, but two similar purple stockings, and their contents, together with, all and singular, the hereditaments and appurtenances thereunto belonging or in anywise appertaining.

CHAPTER XIII

THE FATTENING OF PAT

The general opinion seemed to be that the amiable lady's story was innocuous in every detail, while it commended itself as being absolutely true to human nature, that great essential in a narrative of any sort.

There were the feminine instinct as to the matching of colors, inbred throughout each lat.i.tude, and the masculine instinct in relation to stockings, existent in every longitude, each indicated with all a.s.suredness and delicacy. The account, it was declared by the Young Lady, was a veritable "Idyl of an Outing," and no one disagreed with her. Then came renewed expression of the now constant anxiety and curiosity regarding the progress of the rescuers and Stafford went forward to learn the situation, and report.

"We're in 'in a hole,' literally," came, the reply to Stafford's inquiry of the engineer in charge of the relief train; "That's all we make, at first, merely a hole, when we charge into the big drift ahead of us now. It's thirty feet deep and we can't do much more than loosen up things, just here, and let the shovelers do the rest. It will be better when we get through this cut. We've sent men on ahead and they find the thing not nearly so bad half a mile from here. We're getting along."

"But, how fast are you getting along?" queried Stafford impatiently.

"When are you going to reach us?"

"I can't tell. I'm getting a little doubtful about the fourth day, now.

Still, we may make it. How are you fixed for heat and provisions?"

"All right yet, I guess. I'll find out and let you know later," and Stafford went back to the sleeper.

The bearer of unpleasant news is seldom received with an ovation and Stafford proved no exception. There were the usual plaints, but he did not notice them. Somehow, he had no interest in deliverance. He was satisfied to be where he was. He was living entirely in the present and what was near him. He looked about for the Far Away Lady, but she was not visible, and he indulged in a fit of moodiness, like a boy. He lingered with the company until the time for retiring came and then went forward to the smoking compartment, where the usual group of the gregarious were enjoying themselves. Here he found relaxation of thought, at least, and, to a degree, amus.e.m.e.nt.

He entered as there was being related an incident of politics. It was told by a man portly, ruddy-faced and wearing a gold watch chain, weighty enough for a small cable, from which depended the emblems of two or three of the great secret fraternities. Though in the drawing-room gatherings he had appeared somewhat less in his element than here, he had become rather a favorite because of his unfailing good nature and evident shrewdness and sense of humor. He was known as a "commissioner"

of something in one of the large cities, a typical city politician. He was relating the difficulties experienced in what he called

THE FATTENING OF PAT

Pat, who was an excellent janitor, in charge of a big bank building, with men under him, had aspirations. He wanted to become a policeman.

The place he held was a good one and most men of his cla.s.s would have been contented, but Pat was not. He was dissatisfied with the monotonous indoor life and decided that to be on the "foorce" was the only thing for him. He was a fine fellow, overflowing with energy and full of persistence, he would not, however advised, abandon the idea. He was a tall, muscular man and, aside from the qualities already mentioned, was possessed of good sense and was of excellent habits. He had friends among the tenants of the big structure over the care of which he presided and when, realizing that to attain the object of his desire some strong alliance would be necessary he appealed for aid to an occupant of one of the offices in the building, a young man, who, if not in politics as a business, knew something of the game, he met with no discouragement.

"I'll do what I can, Pat," said Wheaton.

The Munic.i.p.al Civil Service Commission had just been established in the City and was yet "wobbly" and, to a degree, swayed by political influences. Under the direction of Wheaton, who decided to see fair play, Pat underwent the usual preliminary examination, pa.s.sed admirably as to all questions and would have pa.s.sed physically, as well, but for his weight, or rather the lack of it. The required weight for a policeman of his height was one hundred and sixty-five pounds; Pat weighed only one hundred and fifty, for he was as gaunt as an Australian. Other men lacking as many pounds of the weight nominally demanded had secured places with no difficulty, but Pat was not desired by those in authority. His political views were not of the right sort for the examiners and his manner showed his independence. Fortunately for him, the first examination was only a preliminary--(A delay allowed the politicians time to select their men among the many)--and a second and final one was announced to take place four weeks after the first.

Pat came to his friend almost with tears in his eyes:

"Oi'm done fur," said he.

"What's the matter?" demanded Wheaton.

"Oi'm fifteen pounds short," said Pat.

"How long before the next examination?"

"Four wakes."

"Pshaw," said Wheaton. "We'll fix it, yet. I'm not going to let those fellows squeeze you out. Will you do just as I tell you?"

"Oi will, begobs!" was the st.u.r.dy answer.

"Well you must begin to-morrow morning. You've got two sub-janitors, haven't you?"

"Oi have," said Pat.

"You can make them do all the work, if you want to, can't you?"

"Oi can that!"

"Then what I want you to do is this--and, mind, I'm going to take charge of the whole thing and foot the bills; they won't be much--I don't want you to do a lick of work for the next four weeks. I want you to stay in your room about all the time: you mustn't even walk about much. I want you to eat nothing but potatoes and bread with about a quarter of an inch thick of b.u.t.ter and sugar on it. Eat lots! You can have meat, too, if it's very fat. And--you're a sober man and I don't believe you'll get a fixed habit in four weeks--I'm going to send a keg of beer to your room in the morning, and another whenever one is finished. You're to drink a big mug of it every hour."

"Blazes," interjected Pat, "Th' ould lady'll murther me. Oi'll be drunk, sure, an' me breath will breed a peshtiliench."

"No it won't. You'll soon get used to it. We begin to-morrow."

And the next day Pat began, resolutely, though with fears. Wheaton visited him frequently and encouraged him in every way; "I'll get you all the newspapers and teach you to play solitaire--it's a fine game with cards when you're alone. You're a goose," he said "and I'm training you for _pate de fois gras_," but Pat did not know what that meant. He only knew that times were queer. He was afraid of the "ould lady."

The third morning he came down beaming. "It's quare," he announced. "Oi belave th' ould lady do be fallin' in love wid me over agin, she does be that foine an' carressin' wid me. 'Pat!' says she, 'you're the new mon intoirely! You do be as gentle as a lamb an' it's good to see ye so playful wid the childer' says she. 'Oi'm in love wid ye, Pat' says she.

An' Oi all the toime falin' loike a baste, for I knew well 'twas only the mellowness av the beer in me. But it's given me a lesson it has.

Oi'll be betther tempered after this."

"Good idea," said Wheaton.

At the end of the first week Wheaton took Pat out and weighed him, undressed--four pounds gained.

"We must do better than that," commented Wheaton. "We'll barely pull through at this gait, and it will be harder work getting on flesh the last two weeks. Do you take your beer every hour?"

"O'm beginning to spake Dutch," said Pat.

"Well, keep on with it and eat--eat like a hobo! We'll make it! Don't exercise, don't even wink, if you can help it."

Pat took his instructions literally and obeyed them. He stayed in his room and gorged. His eyes became a trifle heavy and his face flushed, but at the end of two weeks he weighed only one hundred and fifty-nine pounds. Somehow, the next week he didn't do so well, gaining only three pounds more. Dame Nature, in mistaken kindness, was trying to adjust him to his new diet. Wheaton was becoming excited--only one hundred and sixty-two pounds, and only a week to gain something over three more in!

"We must hump ourselves!"

And Pat did "hump" himself, ate and drank with an a.s.sumed voracity, and had a slight attack of indigestion. This didn't help matters. The night before the examination he weighed only one hundred and sixty-four pounds and four ounces--three quarters of a pound short!

Wheaton was anxious but not despairing. "The examination begins at ten," he said. "Meet me here at four o'clock in the morning. We'll have six hours left."

At the hour named in the morning came Wheaton, carrying a big jug. "Have you had any beer, yet, Pat?" he asked.