CHAPTER VI
A CONSPIRACY IN SATIN
The tall man emptied one hand of its suitcase to clasp the hand thenewcomer granted him. He held it fast as he exclaimed: "Don't tell methat you are bound for Reno!" She whimpered: "I'm afraid so, Mr.Ashton."
He put down everything to take her other hand, and tuned his voice tocondolence: "Why, I thought you and Sam Whitcomb were--"
"Oh, we were until that shameless Mrs. Wellington----"
"Mrs. Wellington? Don't believe I know her."
"I thought everybody had heard of Mrs. Jimmie Wellington."
"Mrs. Jimmie--oh, yes, I've heard of her!" Everybody seemed to haveheard of Mrs. Jimmie Wellington.
"What a dance she has led her poor husband!" Mrs. Whitcomb said. "Andmy poor Sammy fell into her trap, too."
Ashton, zealous comforter, took a wrathful tone: "I always thoughtyour husband was the most unmitigated----" But Mrs. Whitcomb bridledat once. "How dare you criticize Sammy! He's the nicest boy in theworld."
Ashton recovered quickly. "That's what I started to say. Will hecontest the--divorce?"
"Of course not," she beamed. "The dear fellow would never deny meanything. Sammy offered to get it himself, but I told him he'd betterstay in Chicago and stick to business. I shall need such a lot ofalimony."
"Too bad he couldn't have come along," Ashton insinuated.
But the irony was wasted, for she sighed: "Yes, I shall miss himterribly. But we feared that if he were with me it might hamper me ingetting a divorce on the ground of desertion."
She was trying to look earnest and thoughtful and heartbroken, but theresult was hardly plausible, for Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb could notpossibly have been really earnest or really thoughtful; and her heartwas quite too elastic to break. She proved it instantly, for when sheheard behind her the voice of a young man asking her to let him pass,she turned to protest, but seeing that he was a handsome young man,her starch was instantly changed to sugar. And she rewarded his goodlooks with a smile, as he rewarded hers with another.
Then Ashton intervened like a dog in the manger and dragged her off toher seat, leaving the young man to exclaim:
"Some tamarind, that!"
Another young man behind him growled: "Cut out the tamarinds and getto business. Mallory will be here any minute."
"I hate to think what he'll do to us when he sees what we've done tohim."
"Oh, he won't dare to fight in the presence of his littlebridey-widey. Do you see the porter in there?"
"Yes, suppose he objects."
"Well, we have the tickets. We'll claim it's our section till Malloryand Mrs. Mallory come."
They moved on into the car, where the porter confronted them. When hesaw that they were loaded with bundles of all shapes and sizes, hewaved them away with scorn:
"The emigrant sleepa runs only Toosdays and Thuzzdays."
From behind the first mass of packages came a brisk military answer:
"You black hound! About face--forward march! Section number one."
The porter retreated down the aisle, apologizing glibly. "'Scuse mefor questionin' you, but you-all's baggage looked kind o' eccentric atfirst."
The two young men dumped their parcels on the seats and began tounwrap them hastily.
"If Mallory catches us, he'll kill us," said Lieutenant Shaw.Lieutenant Hudson only laughed and drew out a long streamer of whitesatin ribbon. Its glimmer, and the glimmering eyes of the young manexcited Mrs. Whitcomb so much that after a little hesitance she movedforward, followed by the jealous Ashton.
"Oh, what's up?" she ventured. "It looks like something bridal."
"Talk about womanly intuition!" said Lieutenant Hudson, with aningratiating salaam.
And then they explained to her that their classmate at West Point,being ordered suddenly to the Philippines, had arranged to elope withhis beloved Marjorie Newton; had asked them to get the tickets andcheck the baggage while he stopped at a minister's to "get spliced andhike for Manila by this train."
Having recounted this plan in the full belief that it was even at thatmoment being carried out successfully, Lieutenant Hudson, with aghoulish smile, explained:
"Being old friends of the bride and groom, we want to fix theirsection up in style and make them truly comfortable."
"Delicious!" gushed Mrs. Whitcomb. "But you ought to have some riceand old shoes."
"Here's the rice," said Hudson.
"Here's the old shoes," said Shaw.
"Lovely!" cried Mrs. Whitcomb, but then she grew soberer. "I shouldthink, though, that they--the young couple--would have preferred astateroom."
"Of course," said Hudson, almost blushing, "but it was taken. This wasthe best we could do for them."
"That's why we want to make it nice and bridelike," said Shaw."Perhaps you could help us--a woman's touch----"
"Oh, I'd love to," she glowed, hastening into the section among theyoung men and the bundles. The unusual stir attracted the porter'ssuspicions. He came forward with a look of authority:
"'Scuse me, but wha--what's all this?"
"Vanish--get out," said Hudson, poking a coin at him. As he turned toobey, Mrs. Whitcomb checked him with: "Oh, Porter, could you get us ahammer and some nails?"
The porter almost blanched: "Good Lawd, Miss, you ain't allowin' todrive nails in that woodwork, is you?" That woodwork was to him whatthe altar is to the priest.
But Hudson, resorting to heroic measures, hypnotized him with atwo-dollar bill: "Here, take this and see nothing, hear nothing, saynothing." The porter caressed it and chuckled: "I'm blind, deaf andspeechless." He turned away, only to come back at once with a timid"'Scuse me!"
"You here yet?" growled Hudson.
Anxiously the porter pleaded: "I just want to ast one question. Isyou all fixin' up for a bridal couple?"
"Foolish question, number eight million, forty-three," said Shaw."Answer, no, we are."
The porter's face glistened like fresh stove polish as he gloated overthe prospect. "I tell you, it'll be mahty refreshin' to have a bridalcouple on bode! This dog-on old Reno train don't carry nothin' muchbut divorcees. I'm just nachally hongry for a bridal couple."
"Brile coup-hic-le?" came a voice, like an echo that had somehowbecome intoxicated in transit. It was Little Jimmie Wellington lookingfor more sympathy. "Whass zis about brile couple?"
"Why, here's Little Buttercup!" sang out young Hudson, looking at himin amazed amusement.
"Did I un'stan' somebody say you're preparing for a brile coupl'?"
Lieutenant Shaw grinned. "I don't know what you understood, but that'swhat we're doing."
Immediately Wellington's great face began to churn and work like a bigeddy in a river. Suddenly he was weeping. "Excuse these tears,zhentlemen, but I was once--I was once a b-b-bride myself."
"He looks like a whole wedding party," was Ashton's only comment onthe copious grief. It was poor Wellington's fate to hunt as vainly forsympathy as Diogenes for honesty. The decorators either ignored him orshunted him aside. They were interested in a strange contrivance ofribbons and a box that Shaw produced.
"That," Hudson explained, "is a little rice trap. We hang that upthere and when the bridal couple sit down--biff! a shower of rice allover them. It's bad, eh?"
Everybody agreed that it was a happy thought and even JimmieWellington, like a great baby, bounding from tears to laughter on theinstant, was chortling: "A rishe trap? That's abslootlysplendid--greates' invensh' modern times. I must stick around and seeher when she flops." And then he lurched forward like a too-obligingelephant. "Let me help you."
Mrs. Whitcomb, who had now mounted a step ladder and poised herself asgracefully as possible, shrieked with alarm, as she saw Wellington'sbulk rolling toward her frail support.
If Hudson and Shaw had not been football veterans at West Point andhad not known just what to do when the center rush comes bucking theline, they could never have blocked that flying wedge. But theychecked him and impelled him backward through his ow
n curtains intohis own berth.
Finding himself on his back, he decided to remain there. And there heremained, oblivious of the carnival preparations going on just outsidehis canopy.
Excuse Me! Page 7
