A Voyage Of Consolation - Sara Jeannette Duncan (namjoon book recommendations .txt) 📗
- Author: Sara Jeannette Duncan
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Corpulence; He Is Already Well Rounded.
"I Need Hardly Say," He Said Majestically, "That When I Did Myself The
Honour Of Proposing, I Was Under The Impression That I Had A Suitable
Larynx To Offer You."
"You See I Didn'T Know," I Murmured, And By Accident I Dropped My
Engagement Ring, Which Rolled Upon The Carpet At His Feet. He Stooped
And Picked It Up.
"Shall I Take This With Me?" He Asked, And I Said "By All Means."
That Was All.
I Gave Ten Minutes To Reflection And To The Possibility Of Arthur'S
Coming Back And Pleading, On His Knees, To Be Allowed To Restore That
Defective Larynx. Then I Went Straight Upstairs To The Telephone And
Rang Up The Central Office. When They Replied "_Hello_," I Said, In The
Moderate And Concentrated Tone Which We All Use Through Telephones, "Can
You Give Me New York?"
Poppa Was In New York, And In an Emergency Poppa And I Always Turn To
One Another. There Was A Delay, During Which I Listened Attentively,
With One Eye Closed--I Believe It Is The Sign Of An Unbalanced Intellect
To Shut One Eye When You Use The Telephone, But I Needn'T Go Into
That--And Presently I Got New York. In a Few Minutes More I Was
Accommodated With The Fifth Avenue Hotel.
"Mr. T.P. Wick, Of Chicago," I Demanded.
"_Is His Room Number Sixty-Two?_"
That Is The Kind Of Mind Which You Usually Find Attached To The New York
End Of A Trans-American Telephone. But One Does Not Bandy Words Across A
Thousand Miles Of Country With A Hotel Clerk, So I Merely Responded:
"Very Probably."
There Was A Pause, And Then The Still Small Voice Came Again.
"_Mr. Wick Is In bed At Present. Anything Important?_"
I Reflected That While I In chicago Was Speaking To The Hotel Clerk At
Half-Past Nine O'Clock, The Hotel Clerk In New York Was Speaking To Me
At Eleven. This In Itself Was Enough To Make Our Conversation
Disjointed.
"Yes," I Responded, "It Is Important. Ask Mr. Wick To Get Out Of Bed."
Sufficient Time Elapsed To Enable Poppa To Put On His Clothes And Come
Down By The Elevator, And Then I Heard:
"_Mr. Wick Is Now Speaking_."
"Yes, Poppa," I Replied, "I Guess You Are. Your Old American Accent
Comes Singing Across In a Way That No Member Of Your Family Would Ever
Mistake. But You Needn'T Be Stiff About It. Sorry To Disturb You."
Poppa And I Were Often Personal In Our Intercourse. I Had Not The
Slightest Hesitation In Mentioning His American Accent.
"_Hello, Mamie! Don'T Mention It. What'S Up? House On Fire? Water Pipes
Burst? Strike In The Kitchen? Sound The Alarm--Send For The
Plumber--Raise Gladys'S Wages And Sack Marguerite_."
"My Engagement To Mr. Page Is Broken. Do You Get Me? What Do You
Suggest?"
I Heard A Whistle, Which I Cannot Express In Italics, And Then,
Confidentially:
"_You Don'T Say So! Bad Break?_"
"Very," I Responded Firmly.
"_Any Details Of The Disaster Available? What?_"
"Not At Present," I Replied, For It Would Have Been Difficult To Send
Them By Telephone.
I Could Hear Poppa Considering The Matter At The Other End. He Coughed
Once Or Twice And Made Some Indistinct Inquiries Of The Hotel Clerk.
Then He Called My Attention Again.
"_Hello!_" He Said. "_On To Me? All Right. Go Abroad. Always Done.
Paris, Venice, Florence, Rome, And The Other Places. I'Ll Stand In.
Germanic Sails Wednesdays. Start By Night Train To-Morrow. Bring Momma.
We Can Get Germanic In Good Shape And Ten Minutes To Spare. Right?_"
"Right," I Responded, And Hung Up The Handle. I Did Not Wish To Keep
Poppa Out Of Bed Any Longer Than Was Necessary, He Was Already Up So
Much Later Than I Was. I Turned Away From The Instrument To Go Down
Stairs Again, And There, Immediately Behind Me, Stood Momma.
"Well, Really!" I Exclaimed. It Did Not Occur To Me That The Privacy Of
Telephonic Communication Between Chicago And New York Was Not
Inviolable. Besides, There Are Moments When One Feels A Little Annoyed
With One'S Momma For Having So Lightly Undertaken One'S Existence. This
Was One Of Them. But I Decided Not To Express It.
"I Was Only Going To Say," I Remarked, "That If I Had Shrieked It Would
Have Been Your Fault."
"I Knew Everything," Said Momma, "The Minute I Heard Him Shut The Gate.
I Came Up Immediately, And All This Time, Dear, You'Ve Been Confiding In
Us Both. My Dear Daughter."
Momma Carries About With Her A Well-Spring Of Sentiment, Which She Did
Not Bequeath To Me. In That Respect I Take Almost Entirely After My
Other Parent.
"Very Well," I Said, "Then I Won'T Have To Do It Again."
Her Look Of Disappointment Compelled Me To Speak With Decision. "I Know
What You Would Like At This Juncture, Momma. You'D Like Me To Get Down
On The Floor And Put My Head In Your Lap And Weep All Over Your New
Brocade. That'S What You'D Really Enjoy. But, Under Circumstances Like
These, I Never Do Things Like That. Now The Question Is, Can You Get
Ready To Start For Europe To-Morrow Night, Or Have You A Headache Coming
On?"
Momma Said That She Expected Mrs. Judge Simmons To Tea To-Morrow
Afternoon, That She Hadn'T Been Thinking Of It, And That She Was Out Of
Nerve Tincture. At Least, These Were Her Principal Objections. I Said,
On Mature Consideration, I Didn'T See Why Mrs. Simmons Shouldn'T Come To
Tea, That There Were Twenty-Four Hours For All Necessary Thinking, And
That A Gallon Of Nerve Tincture, If Required, Could Be At Her Disposal
In Ten Minutes.
"Being Protestants," I Added, "I Suppose A Convent Wouldn'T Be Of Any
Use To Us--What Do You Think?"
Momma Thought She Could Go.
There Was No Need For Hurry, And I Attended To Only One Other Matter
Before I Went To Bed. That Was A Communication To The _Herald_, Which I
Sent Off In Plenty Of Time To Appear In The Morning. It Was Addressed To
The Society Editor, And Ran As Follows:
"The Marriage Arranged Between Professor Arthur Greenleaf Page, Of Yale
University, And Miss Mamie Wick, Of 1453, Lakeside-Avenue, Chicago, Will
Not Take Place. Mr. And Mrs. Wick, And Miss Wick, Sail For Europe On
Wednesday By S.S. Germanic."
I Reflected, As I Closed My Eyes, That Arthur Was A Regular Reader Of
The _Herald_.
Chapter 2
We Met Poppa On The Germanic Gangway, His Hat On The Back Of His Head
And One Finger In each Of His Waistcoat Pockets, An Attitude Which, With
Him, Always Betokens Concern. The Vessel Was At That Stage Of Departure
When The People Who Have Been Turned Off Are Feeling Injured That It
Should Have Been Done So Soon, And Apparently Only The Weight Of Poppa'S
Personality On Its New York End Kept The Gangway Out. As We Drove Up He
Appeared To Lift His Little Finger And Three Dishevelled Navigators
Darted Upon The Cab. They And We And Our Trunks Swept Up The Gangway
Together, Which Immediately Closed Behind Us, Under The Direction Of An
Extremely Irritated Looking Chief Officer. We Reunited As A Family As
Well As We Could In connection With Uncoiled Ropes And Ship Discipline.
Then Poppa, With His Watch In His Hand, Exclaimed Reproachfully, Well In
Hearing Of The Chief Officer, "I Gave You Ten Minutes And You _Had_ Ten
Minutes. You Stopped At Huyler'S For Candy, I'Ll Lay My Last Depreciated
Dollar On It."
My Other Parent Looked Guiltily At Some Oblong Boxes Tied Up In White
Paper With Narrow Red Ribbon, Which, Innocently Enough I Consider,
Enhance The Value Of Life To Us Both. But She Ignored The Charge--Momma
Hates Arguments.
"Dear Me!" She Said, As The Space Widened Between Us And The Docks. "So
We Are All Going To Europe Together This Morning! I Can Hardly Realise
It. Farewell America! How Interesting Life Is."
"Yes," Replied Poppa. "And Now I Guess I'D Better Show You Your Cabins
Before It Gets Any More Interesting."
We Had A Calm Evening, Though Nothing Would Induce Momma To Think So,
And At Ten O'Clock Senator J.P. Wick And I Were Still Pacing The Deck
Talking Business. The Moon Rose, And Threw Arthur'S Shadow Across Our
Conversation, But We Looked At It With Precision And It Moved Away. That
Is One Of Poppa'S Most Comforting Characteristics, He Would As Soon Open
His Bosom To A Shot-Gun As To A Confidence. He Asked For Details Through
The Telephone Merely For Bravado. As A Matter Of Fact, If I Had Begun To
Send Them He Would Have Rung Off The Connection And Said It Was An
Accident. We Dipped Into Politics, And I Told The Senator That While I
Considered His Speech On The Silver Compromise A Credit To The Family On
The Whole, I Thought He Had Let Himself Out Somewhat Unnecessarily At
The Expense Of The British Nation.
"We Are Always Twisting A Tail," I Said Reproachfully, "That Does
Nothing But Wag At Us."
This Poppa Reluctantly Admitted With The Usual Reference To The Irish
Vote. We Both Hoped Sincerely That Any English Friends Who Saw That
Speech, And Paused To Realise That The Orator Was A Parent Of Mine,
Would Consider The Number Of Irish Resident In Illinois, And The Amount
Of Invective Which Their Feelings Require. Poppa Doesn'T Really Know
Sometimes Whether He Is Himself Or A Shillelagh, But Whatever His
Temporary Political Capacity He Is Never Ungrateful. He Went On To Give
Me The Particulars Of His Interview With The President About The Chicago
Post Office, And Then I Gradually Unfolded My Intention Of Preparing Our
Foreign Experiences As A Family For Publication In book Form. While I
Was Unfolding It Poppa Eyed Me Askance.
"Is That Usual?" He Inquired.
"Very Usual Indeed," I Replied.
"I Mean--Under The Circumstances?"
"Under What Circumstances?" I Demanded Boldly. I Knew That Nothing Would
Induce Him To Specify Them.
"Oh, I Only Meant--It Wasn'T Exactly My Idea."
"What Was Your Idea--Exactly?" It Was Mean Of Me To Put Poppa To The
Blush, But I Had To Define The Situation.
"Oh," Said He, With Unlooked-For Heroism, "I Was Basing My Calculations
With Reference To You On The Distractions Of Change--Paris Dry-Goods,
Rowing Round Venice In Gondolas, Riding Through The St. Gothard Tunnel,
And The Healing Hand Of Time. I Don'T Intend To Give A Day Less Than Six
Weeks To It. I'M Looking Forward To The Tranquilising Effect Of The
Antique Some Myself," He Added, Hedging. "I Find These New Self-Risers
That We'Ve Undertaken To Carry Almost More Than My Temperament Can
Stand. They Went Up From An Output Of Five Hundred Dollars To Six
Hundred And Fifty Thousand, And Back Again Inside Seven Days Last Month.
I'M Looking Forward To Examining Something That Hasn'T Moved For A
Couple Of Thousand Years With Considerable Pleasure."
"Poppa," Said I, Ignoring The Self-Risers, "If You Were As Particular
About The Quality Of Your Fiction As You Are About The Quality Of Your
Table-Butter, You Would Know That The Best Heroines Never Have Recourse
To Such Measures Now. They Are Simply Obsolete. Except For My Literary
Intention, I Should Be Ashamed To Go To Europe At All--Under The
Circumstances. But That, You See, Brings The Situation Up To Date. I
Transmit My European Impressions Through The Prism Of Damaged Affection.
Nothing Could Be More Modern."
"I See," Replied Poppa, Rubbing His Chin Searchingly, Which Is His
Manner Of Expressing Sagacious Doubt. His Beard Descends From The Lower
Part Of His Chin In The Long Unfettered American Manner, Without Which
It Is Impossible For _Punch_ To Indicate A Citizen Of The United States.
When He Positively Disapproves He Pulls It Severely.
"But Europe'S Been Done Before, You Know," He Continued. "In Fact, I
Don'T Know Any Continent More Popular Than Europe With People That Want
To Publish Books Of Travel. It'S Been Done Before."
"Never," I Rejoined, "In Connection With You, Poppa!"
Poppa Removed His Hand From His Chin.
"Oh, If I'M To Assist, That'S Quite Another Anecdote," He Said Briskly.
"I Didn'T Understand You Intended To Ring Me In. Of Course, I Don'T Mean
To Imply There Is Any Special Prejudice Against Books Of Travel In
Europe. About How Many Pages Did You Think Of Running It To?"
"My Idea Was Three Hundred,"
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