The Gentle Art of Cooking Wives Part 4

"Not a confounded one!" he said.

III

For a time Randolph Chance was fairly dazed by the suddenness with which his fortune changed. Yesterday it was down--deep down; to-day it had gone flying up. He had followed Constance Leigh when she walked to the lake in the afternoon; had helped her from a perilous place in the midst of rough winds and still rougher waves; and as he took her from the pier their eyes had met, and this was why, later on, he sat by his friend's fireside in a state of bewildered rapture.

An outsider, one of the world's common folk, would have made but little out of Randolph's brief, rough-hewn sentences. But Loveland was finely strung; he understood.

"I can't forget that look. It breaks me all up every time I think of it."

Randolph spoke like a man who was talking to himself.

"It's so unreal--I may have dreamed it," he went on slowly. "I tell you, Steve"--this with a sudden turn--"I don't dare to hope, but if----"

There was no perceptible tremor in his voice, but the sentence broke sharply.

"I know, old man, I know," said Steve in his gentlest voice.

And he poked the fire softly between the ribs of the grate.

It seemed that Randolph's hope was not without foundation, for after he had been the toy of fate somewhat longer he came to Steve one night with great news, and yet no news to Steve, who had long discerned the signs of the times and had been dreading what he saw must come. Now, although he felt sharp pangs of grief on seeing his boon and sole companion s.n.a.t.c.hed from him and about to be offered up upon the altar matrimonial, yet he rejoiced thereat with the full force of his unselfish nature.

On this especial night the two men sat beside the fire, and also beside some of the last oysters that would ever be served up with the spicy sauce of this same good comradeship. As befitted so memorable an occasion, the oysters were big fellows and were frying gloriously.

Randolph, who was in great good spirits, leaned over and lifted them carefully with a fork he held in hand.

"Here we are!" he exclaimed. "Things are done brown now!"

Then the two men looked up at each other and burst out laughing.

There was one important ceremony which Randolph felt must precede the marriage service, and that was the introduction of his bosom friend to his _fiancee_.

"I've been puzzling my brains to think how I can bring this about," he said to Constance one day. "I've already hinted at it to Steve, but he don't take. I know he wants to meet you, but he's such a retiring fellow--not really bashful, but like a clam in his sh.e.l.l."

"Don't distress yourself, I beg of you," said Constance with a mischievous smile. "Mr. Loveland and I have already met and are now the best of friends."

Randolph stared at her in open-mouthed amazement.

"Where?" he managed to ask.

"Right here in this parlor. I must tell you about it--it was most beautiful. His card took me by surprise, but I supposed you had brought him. When I came downstairs there he was, looking altogether different from your descriptions."

"Well, I like that!" said Randolph. "Do you mean to impeach my statements?"

"Altogether better," persisted Constance. "Yes, he is taller and has a most interesting face. He came forward to greet me without a particle of embarra.s.sment, and there was something so manly and simple, and withal so high-bred in his every movement, that I was charmed. I know he must come of a fine family."

"Oh, he does. He had a line of ancestors a mile long aboard the _Mayflower_. A cousin of his was telling me. He never said a word. He never talks."

"Ah!" said Constance with an arch smile. "He talked that evening, I a.s.sure you, and to good effect. He had but a few moments to stay, but he made every moment tell. For one thing, he a.s.sured me, with a most winning smile, that he should feel constrained to rise in church and forbid the banns unless I promised to adopt him as a brother."

Randolph's eyes and mouth opened again.

"Perhaps you'd better adopt him as something still nearer!" he said, with a pretense of anger.

"Now that you mention it," Constance replied in a confidential tone, "I came very near doing so. The only reason I did not was that he forgot to ask me."

Randolph broke into a laugh. Then he added in a puzzled tone:

"Well, it beats everything! In all the ten years I've known him I've never heard him say as much as that!"

"I can't repeat all he said----" Constance began again.

"What!" Randolph cried with another semblance of jealousy.

"No, because it lay in his manner; that gentle, affectionate, yet manly manner--indescribable! perfectly indescribable!"

"It's the same to everybody," said Randolph, "and everybody loves him.

I never knew another such fellow. It's past belief the way he wins people. And he says nothing, too."

"Ah, but he does!" repeated Constance. "Well, well, there's no telling it all. I continually think of the word delightful in recurring to it and him. I a.s.sured him that he would be a member of our family, and that our fireside and our crust--I really didn't dare to promise more than a crust, you know, Randolph--would be his as well as ours. When he left he said good-by in the same perfectly easy, natural way, calling me Constance----"

"What?" Randolph exclaimed.

"And then he said, 'I am a brother now, you know,' and he bent and kissed me."

"The d.i.c.kens!" cried Randolph.

And Constance finished the sentence.

"He did. And really in the most delightful way," she added navely.

Shortly after this cementing of new bonds there was a quiet wedding ceremony one morning at the little suburban church, and when this was over Randolph and Constance were ready for their walk through life.

This walk--sometimes quickened into a jog trot and even into a lope, sometimes slackened till it becomes a crawl--is variously diversified, according to the temper and general disposition of the parties. In the present instance there was reasonable hope of some harmony of gait, but life is life, whether within or without the wedded fold, and "human natur' is human natur';" and although David Harum may tell us that some folks have more of this commodity than others, yet we know that every one has a lump of it, at least, and usually, thank G.o.d! a lump of leaven as well.

The first agitating question upon marriage is that of residence.

Happily Randolph and Constance were agreed upon this point. Both were indifferent to the city; both were lovers of the country. Randolph had once read a certain sweet pastoral termed "Liberty and a Living," and hardly a day had pa.s.sed since the reading that he had not recalled it and speculated as to how he could adjust it to his own life.

The fact that the writer, like himself, was a journalist; that he broke loose from just such shackles as were wearing Randolph's pleasure in life, made it seem more possible to the latter, and now that he had joined hands with a woman of similar tastes, the experiment seemed really feasible.

"It's easy enough if we'll only think so," said Randolph.

"It _looks_ easy," Constance replied more cautiously; "that's one reason why I am afraid of it. That proves to me that we don't know anything about it. If it were really so easy more people would try it.

We're not the only ones who love the country."