CHAPTER XVII
LAST CALL FOR BREAKFAST
It was still Iowa when Mallory awoke. Into his last moments of heavysleep intruded a voice like a town-crier's voice, crying:
"Lass call for breakfuss in the Rining Rar," and then, again louder,"Lass call for breakfuss in Rinin-rar," and, finally and faintly,"Lasscall breakfuss ri'rar."
Mallory pushed up his window shade. The day was broad on rollingprairies like billows established in the green soil. He peeked throughhis curtains. Most of the other passengers were up and about, theirbeds hidden and beddings stowed away behind the bellying veneer of theupperworks of the car. All the berths were made up except his own andnumber two, in the corner, where Little Jimmie Wellington's nose stillplayed a bagpipe monody, and one other berth, which he recognized asMarjorie's.
His belated sleep and hers had spared them both the stares andlaughing chatter of the passengers. But this bridal couple's twoberths, standing like towers among the seats had providedconversation for everybody, had already united the casual group ofstrangers into an organized gossip-bee.
Mallory got into his shoes and as much of his clothes as was necessaryfor the dash to the washroom, and took on his arm the rest of hiswardrobe. Just as he issued from his lonely chamber, Marjorie appearedfrom hers, much disheveled and heavy-eyed. The bride and groomexchanged glances of mutual terror, and hurried in oppositedirections.
The spickest and spannest of lieutenants soon realized that he wasreduced to wearing yesterday's linen as well as yesterday's beard.This was intolerable. A brave man can endure heartbreaks, loss oflove, honor and place, but a neat man cannot abide the traces of timein his toilet. Lieutenant Mallory had seen rough service in camp andon long hikes, when he gloried in mud and disorder, and he was to seecampaigns in the Philippines, when he should not take off his shoes orhis uniform for three days at a time. But that was the field, and thiscar was a drawing room.
In this crisis in his affairs, Little Jimmie Wellington waddled intothe men's room, floundering about with every lurch of the train, likea cannon loose in the hold of a ship. He fumbled with the handles on abasin, and made a crazy toilet, trying to find some abatement of hisfever by filling a glass at the ice-water tank and emptying it overhis head.
These drastic measures restored him to some sort of coherency, andMallory appealed to him for help in the matter of linen. Wellingtoneffusively offered him everything he had, and Mallory selected fromhis store half a dozen collars, any one of which would have gone roundhis neck nearly twice.
Wellington also proffered his safety razor, and made him a present ofa virgin wafer of steel for his very own.
With this assistance, Mallory was enabled to make himself fairlypresentable. When he returned to his seat, the three curtained roomshad been whisked away by the porter. There was no place now to hidefrom the passengers.
He sat down facing the feminine end of the car, watching for Marjorie.The passengers were watching for her, too, hoping to learn whatunheard-of incident could have provoked the quarrel that separated abride and groom at this time, of all times.
To the general bewilderment, when Marjorie appeared, Mallory and sherushed together and clasped hands with an ardor that suggested adesire for even more ardent greeting. The passengers almost sprainedtheir ears to hear how they would make up such a dreadful feud. Butall they heard was: "We'll have to hurry, Marjorie, if we want to getany breakfast."
"All right, honey. Come along."
Then the inscrutable couple scurried up the aisle, and disappeared inthe corridor, leaving behind them a mighty riddle. They kissed in thecorridor of that car, kissed in the vestibule, kissed in the twocorridors of the next car, and were caught kissing in the nextvestibule by the new conductor.
The dining car conductor, who flattered himself that he knew a brideand groom when he saw them, escorted them grandly to a table for two;and the waiter fluttered about them with extraordinary consideration.
They had a plenty to talk of in prospect and retrospect. They bothfelt sure that a minister lurked among the cars somewhere, and theyate with a zest to prepare for the ceremony, arguing the best placefor it, and quarreling amorously over details. Mallory was for one ofthe vestibules as the scene of their union, but Marjorie was for thebaggage car, till she realized that Snoozleums might be unwilling toattend. Then she swung round to the vestibule, but Mallory shifted tothe observation platform.
Marjorie had left Snoozleums with Mrs. Temple, who promised to hidehim when the new conductor passed through the car, and she remindedHarry to get the waiter to bring them a package of bones for theironly "child," so far.
On the way back from the dining car they kissed each other good-byeagain at all the trysting places they had sanctified before. The sunwas radiant, the world good, and the very train ran with jubilantrejoicing. They could not doubt that a few more hours would see themlegally man and wife.
Mallory restored Marjorie to her place in their car, and with smilesof assurance, left her for another parson-hunt through the train. Shewaited for him in a bridal agitation. He ransacked the train forwardin vain, and returned, passing Marjorie with a shake of the head and adour countenance. He went out to the observation platform, where hestumbled on Ira Lathrop and Anne Gattle, engaged in a conversation ofevident intimacy, for they jumped when he opened the door, as if theywere guilty of some plot.
Mallory mumbled his usual, "Excuse me," whirled on his heel, anddragged his discouraged steps back through the Observation Room, wherevarious women and a few men of evident unclericality were drapedacross arm chairs and absorbed in lazy conversation or bobbing theirheads over magazines that trembled with the motion of the train.
Mrs. Wellington was busily writing at the desk, but he did not knowwho she was, and he did not care whom she was writing to. He did notobserve the baleful glare of Mrs. Whitcomb, who sat watching Mrs.Wellington, knowing all too well who she was, and suspecting thecorrespondent--Mrs. Whitcomb was tempted to spell the word with one"r."
Mallory stumbled into the men's portion of the composite car. Here henodded with a sickly cheer to the sole occupant, Dr. Temple, who waslooking less ministerial than ever in an embroidered skull cap. Theold rascal was sitting far back on his lumbar vertebrae. One of hishands clasped a long glass filled with a liquid of a hue thatresembled something stronger than what it was--mere ginger ale. Theother hand toyed with a long black cigar. The smoke curled round theold man's head like the fumes of a sultan's narghile, and through thewisps his face was one of Oriental luxury.
Mallory's eyes were caught from this picture of beatitude by theentrance, at the other door, of a man who had evidently swung aboardat the most recent stop--for Mallory had not seen him. His gray hairwas crowned with a soft black hat, and his spare frame was swathed ina frock coat that had seen better days. His soft gray eyes seemed tosearch timidly the smoke-clouded atmosphere, and he had a bashful airwhich Mallory translated as one of diffidence in a place where liquorsand cigars were dispensed.
With equal diffidence Mallory advanced, and in a low tone accosted thenewcomer cautiously:
"Excuse me--you look like a clergyman."
"The hell you say!"
Mallory pursued the question no further.
Excuse Me! Page 18
