CHAPTER V
A QUEEN AMONG WOMEN
Miss Anne Gattle, seated in Mrs. Jimmie Wellington's seat, had notheard Mr. Jimmie Wellington's sketch of his wife. But she neededhardly more than a glance to satisfy herself that she and Mrs. Jimmiewere as hopelessly antipathetic as only two polite women can be.
Mrs. Jimmie was accounted something of a snob in Chicago society, butperhaps the missionary was a trifle the snobbisher of the two whenthey met.
Miss Gattle could overlook a hundred vices in a Zulu queen more easilythan a few in a fellow countrywoman. She did not like Mrs. Jimmie, andshe was proud of it.
When the porter said, "I'm afraid you got this lady's seat," MissGattle shot one glance at the intruder and rose stiffly. "Then Isuppose I'll have to----"
"Oh, please don't go, there's plenty of room," Mrs. Wellingtoninsisted, pressing her to remain. This nettled Miss Gattle still more,but she sank back, while the porter piled up expensive traveling-bagsand hat boxes till there was hardly a place to sit. But even at thatMrs. Jimmie felt called on to apologize:
"I haven't brought much luggage. How I'll ever live four days withthis, I can't imagine. It will be such a relief to get my trunks atReno."
"Reno?" echoed Miss Gattle. "Do you live there?"
"Well, theoretically, yes."
"I don't understand you."
"I've got to live there to get it."
"To get it? Oh!" A look of sudden and dreadful realization came overthe missionary. Mrs. Wellington interpreted it with a smile of gaydefiance:
"Do you believe in divorces?"
Anne Gattle stuck to her guns. "I must say I don't. I think a lawought to be passed stopping them."
"So do I," Mrs. Wellington amiably agreed, "and I hope they'll passjust such a law--after I get mine." Then she ventured a little shaftof her own. "You don't believe in divorces. I judge you've never beenmarried."
"Not once!" The spinster drew herself up, but Mrs. Wellington disarmedher with an unexpected bouquet:
"Oh, lucky woman! Don't let any heartless man delude you into takingthe fatal step."
Anne Gattle was nothing if not honest. She confessed frankly: "I mustsay that nobody has made any violent efforts to compel me to. That'swhy I'm going to China."
"To China!" Mrs. Wellington gasped, hardly believing her ears. "Mydear! You don't intend to marry a laundryman?"
"The idea! I'm going as a missionary."
"A missionary? Why leave Chicago?" Mrs. Wellington's eye softened moreor less convincingly: "Oh, lovely! How I should dote upon being amissionary. I really think that after I get my divorce I might have atry at it. I had thought of a convent, but being a missionary must bemuch more exciting." She dismissed the dream with an abrupt shake ofthe head. "Excuse me, but do you happen to have any matches?"
"Matches! I never carry them!"
"They never have matches in the women's room, and I've used my lastone."
Miss Gattle took another reef in her tight lips. "Do you smokecigarettes?"
Mrs. Wellington's echoed disgust with disgust: "Oh, no, indeed. Iloathe them. I have the most dainty little cigars. Did you ever tryone?"
Miss Gattle stiffened into one exclamation point: "Cigars! Me!"
Mrs. Jimmie was so well used to being disapproved of that it neverdisturbed her. She went on as if the face opposite were not alivewith horror: "I should think that cigars might be a great consolationto a lady missionary in the long lone hours of--what do missionariesdo when they're not missionarying?"
"That depends."
There was something almost spiritual in Mrs. Jimmie's beatific look:"I can't tell you what consolation my cigars have given me in mytroubles. Mr. Wellington objected--but then Mr. Wellington objected tonearly everything I did. That's why I am forced to this dreadfulstep."
"Cigars?"
"Divorces."
"Divorces!"
"Well, this will be only my second--my other was such a nuisance. Igot that from Jimmie, too. But it didn't take. Then we made up andremarried. Rather odd, having a second honeymoon with one's firsthusband. But remarriage didn't succeed any better. Jimmie fell off thewater-wagon with an awful splash, and he quite misunderstood my purelyplatonic interest in Sammy Whitcomb, a nice young fellow with a foolof a wife. Did you ever meet Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb--no? Oh, but you area lucky woman! Indeed you are! Well, when Jimmie got jealous, I justgave him up entirely. I'm running away to Reno. I sent a note to myhusband's club, saying that I had gone to Europe, and he needn't tryto find me. Poor fellow, he will. He'll hunt the continent high andlow for me, but all the while I'll be in Nevada. Rather good joke onlittle Jimmie, eh?"
"Excruciating!"
"But now I must go. Now I must go. I've really become quite addictedto them."
"Divorces?"
"Cigars. Do stay here till I come back. I have so much to say to you."
Miss Gattle shook her head in despair. She could understand a dozenheathen dialects better than the speech of so utter a foreigner as herfellow-countrywoman. Mrs. Jimmie hastened away, rather pleased at theshocks she had administered. She enjoyed her own electricity.
In the corridor she administered another thrill--this time to a tallyoung man--a stranger, as alert for flirtation as a weasel formischief. He huddled himself and his suitcases into as flat a space aspossible, murmuring:
"These corridors are so narrow, aren't they?"
"Aren't they?" said Mrs. Jimmie. "So sorry to trouble you."
"Don't mention it."
She passed on, their glances fencing like playful foils. Then shepaused:
"Excuse me. Could you lend me a match? They never have matches in theWomen's Room."
He succeeded in producing a box after much shifting of burdens, and hewas rewarded with a look and a phrase:
"You have saved my life."
He started to repeat his "Don't mention it," but it seemedinappropriate, so he said nothing, and she vanished behind a door. Heturned away, saying to himself that it promised to be a pleasantjourney. He was halted by another voice--another woman's voice:
"Pardon me, but is this the car for Reno?"
He turned to smile, "I believe so!" Then his eyes widened as herecognized the speaker.
"Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb!"
It promised to be a curious journey.
Excuse Me! Page 6
