CHAPTER XX
FOILED AGAIN
Mallory tucked Marjorie under his arm and Marjorie tucked Snoozleumsunder hers, and they did a Sort of three-legged race down theplatform. The porter was pale blue with excitement, and it was withthe last gasp of breath in all three bodies that they scrambled up thesteps of the only open vestibule.
The porter was mad enough to give them a piece of his mind, and theywere meek enough to take it without a word of explanation orresentment.
And the train sped on into the heart of Nebraska, along the unpoeticvalley of the Platte. When lunch-time came, they ate it together, butin gloomy silence. They sat in Marjorie's berth throughout theappallingly monotonous afternoon in a stupor of disappointment andhelpless dejection, speaking little and saying nothing then.
Whenever the train stopped, Mallory watched the on-getting passengerswith his keenest eye. He had a theory that since most people wholooked like preachers were decidedly lay, it might be well to take agambler's chance and accost the least ministerial person next.
So, in his frantic anxiety, he selected a horsey-looking individualwho got on at North Platte. He looked so much like a rawhided ranchmanthat Mallory stole up on him and asked him to excuse him, but did hehappen to be a clergyman? The man replied by asking Mallory if hehappened to be a flea-bitten maverick, and embellished his questionwith a copious flow of the words ministers use, but with a seculararrangement of them. In fact he split one word in two to insert adouble-barrelled curse. All that Mallory could do was to admit that hewas a flea-bitten what-he-said, and back away.
After that, if a vicar in full uniform had marched down the aisleheading a procession of choir-boys, Mallory would have suspected him.He vowed in his haste that Marjorie might die an old maid before hewould approach anybody else on that subject.
Nebraska would have been a nice long state for a honeymoon, but itsfour hundred-odd miles were a dreary length for the couple so near andyet so far. The railroad clinging to the meandering Platte made theway far longer, and Mallory and Marjorie felt like Pyramus and Thisbewandering along an eternal wall, through which they could see, but notreach, one another.
They dined together as dolefully as if they had been married for fortyyears. Then the slow twilight soaked them in its melancholy. Theporter lighted up the car, and the angels lighted up the stars, butnothing lighted up their hopes.
"We've got to quarrel again, my beloved," Mallory groaned to Marjorie.
Somehow they were too dreary even to nag one another with an outburstfor the benefit of the eager-eyed passengers.
A little excitement bestirred them as they realized that they wereconfronted with another night-robeless night and a morrow withoutchange of gear.
"What a pity that we left our things in the taxicab," Marjorie sighed.And this time she said, "we left them," instead of "you left them." Itwas very gracious of her, but Mallory did not acknowledge thecourtesy. Instead he gave a start and a gasp:
"Good Lord, Marjorie, we never paid the second taxicab!"
"Great heavens, how shall we ever pay him? He's been waiting theretwenty-four hours. How much do you suppose we owe him?"
"About a year of my pay, I guess."
"You must send him a telegram of apology and ask him to read hismeter. He was such a nice man--the kindest eyes--for a chauffeur."
"But how can I telegraph him? I don't know his name, or his number,or his company, or anything."
"It's too bad. He'll go through life hating us and thinking we cheatedhim."
"Well, he doesn't know our names either."
And then they forgot him temporarily for the more immediate need ofclothes. All the passengers knew that they had left behind whatbaggage they had not sent ahead, and much sympathy had been expressed.But most people would rather give you their sympathy than lend youtheir clothes. Mallory did not mind the men, but Marjorie dreaded thewomen. She was afraid of all of them but Mrs. Temple.
She threw herself on the little lady's mercy and was asked to helpherself. She borrowed a nightgown of extraordinary simplicity, a shirtwaist of an ancient mode, and a number of other things.
If there had been anyone there to see she would have made a mostanachronistic bride.
Mallory canvassed the men and obtained a shockingly purple shirt fromWedgewood, who meant to put him at his ease, but somehow failed whenhe said in answer to Mallory's thanks:
"God bless my soul, old top, don't you think of thanking me. I oughtto thank you. You see, the idiot who makes my shirts, made that bymistake, and I'd be no end grateful if you'd jolly well take theloathsome thing off my hands. I mean to say, I shouldn't dream ofbeing seen in it myself. You quite understand, don't you?"
Ashton contributed a maroon atrocity in hosiery, with equal tact:
"If they fit you, keep 'em. I got stung on that batch of socks. Thatpair was originally lavender, but they washed like that. Keep 'em. Iwouldn't be found dead in 'em."
The mysterious Fosdick, who lived a lonely life in the Observation carand slept in the other sleeper, lent Mallory a pair of pyjamasevidently intended for a bridegroom of romantic disposition. Malloryblushed as he accepted them and when he found himself in them, hewhisked out the light, he was so ashamed of himself.
Once more the whole car gaped at the unheard of behavior of its newlywedded pair. The poor porter had been hungry for a bridal couple, butas he went about gathering up the cast-off footwear of his largefamily and found Mallory's big shoes at number three and Marjorie'stiny boots at number five, he shook his head and groaned.
"Times has suttainly changed for the wuss if this is a bridal couple,gimme divorcees."
Excuse Me! Page 21
