CHAPTER VI
"BURNING HIS BRIDGES"
Wallie opened his eyes one morning with the subconscious feeling thatsomething portentous was impending though he was still too drowsy toremember it.
He yawned and stretched languidly and luxuriously on a bed which was thelast word in comfort, since Mr. Cone's pride in The Colonial beds wassecond only to that of his pride in the hotel's reputation forexclusiveness. With especially made mattresses and monogrammed linen,silken coverlets and imported blankets, his boasts were amply justified,and the beds perhaps accounted for the frequency with which the gueststried to get into the dining room when the breakfast hours were over.
A bit of yellow paper on the chiffonier brought Wallie to his full senseas his eyes fell upon it. It was the answer to a telegram he had sentPinkey Fripp, in Prouty, Wyoming, making inquiries as to the possibilityof taking up a homestead.
It read:
They's a good piece of ground you can file on if you got the guts to hold it. PINKEY.
Wallie grew warm every time he thought of such a message addressed tohim coming over the wire. Though worse than inelegant, and partiallyunintelligible, it was plain enough that what he wanted was there if hewent for it, and he had replied that Pinkey might look for him shortlyin Prouty.
And to-day he was leaving! He was saying good-bye forever to the hotelthat was like home to him and the friends that were as his ownrelatives! He had $2,100 in real money--a legacy--and his clothing. Inhis new-born spirit of independence he wished that he might even leavehis clothes behind him, but he had changed his mind when he had figuredthe cost of buying others.
His aunt had taken no notice of Wallie's preparations for departure. Thenews of the rupture had spread quickly, and the sympathies of the guestswere equally divided. All were agreed, however, that if Wallie went Westhe would soon have enough of it and be back in time to go South for thewinter.
Helene Spenceley had left unexpectedly upon the receipt of a telegram,and it was one of Wallie's favourite speculations as to what she wouldsay when she heard he was a neighbour--something disagreeable, probably.
With the solemnity which a person might feel who is planning his ownfuneral, Wallie arose and made a careful toilet. It would be the last inthe room that he had occupied for so many summers. The hangings werehandsome, the chairs luxurious, and his feet sunk deep in the nap of thevelvet carpet. The equipment of the white, commodious bathroom wasperfection, and no article of furniture was missing from his bedroomthat could contribute to the comfort of a modish young man accustomed toevery modern convenience.
As Wallie took his shower and dusted himself with scented talcum andapplied the various lotions and skin-foods recommended for thecomplexion, he wondered what the hotel accommodations would be like inProuty, Wyoming. Not up to much, he imagined, but he decided that hewould duplicate this bathroom in his own residence as soon as he had hishomestead going. Wallie's knowledge of Wyoming was gathered chiefly froman atlas he had borrowed from Mr. Cone. The atlas stated briefly that itcontained 97,890 square miles, mostly arid, and a population of 92,531.It gave the impression that the editors themselves were hazy on Wyoming,which very likely was the truth, since it had been published in Mr.Cone's childhood when the state was a territory.
What the atlas omitted, however, was supplied by Wallie's imagination.When he closed his eyes he could see great herds of cattle--his--withtheir broad backs glistening in the sunshine, and vast tracts--hisalso--planted in clover, oats, barley, or whatever it was they grew inthe country. For diversion, he saw himself scampering over the countryon horseback on visits to the friendly neighbours, entertainingfrequently himself and entertained everywhere. As for HeleneSpenceley--she would soon learn the manner of man she had belittled!
This frame of mind was responsible for the fact that when he hadfinished dressing and gone below he spoke patronizingly to Mr. Appel,who paid an income tax on fourteen million.
It was a wrench after all--the going--and the fact that his aunt did notrelent made it the harder. It was the first time he ever had packed hisown boxes and decided upon the clothes in which he should travel. Butshe sat erect and unyielding at the far end of the veranda while he wasin the midst of a sympathetic leave-taking from the guests of TheColonial. There were tears in Mrs. Budlong's eyes when she warned himnot to fall into bad habits, and Wallie's were close to the surface whenhe promised her he would not.
"Aw--you'll be back when it gets cold weather," said Mr. Appel.
"I shall succeed or leave my bones in Wyoming!" Wallie declared,dramatically.
Mr. Appel snickered: "They'll help fertilize the soil, which I'm toldneeds it." His early struggles had made Mr. Appel callous.
Miss Macpherson, looking straight ahead, gave no indication that she sawher nephew coming.
"Will you say good-bye to me, Aunt Mary?"
She appeared not to see the hand he put out to her.
"I trust you will have a safe journey, Wallace." Her voice was a breathfrom the Arctic.
He stood before her a moment feeling suddenly friendless. "This makes mevery unhappy, Aunt Mary," he said, sorrowfully.
Since she did not answer, he could only leave her, and her failure toask him to write hurt as much as the frigidity of the leave-taking.
The motor-bus had arrived and the chauffeur was piling his luggage ontop of it, so, with a final handshake, Wallie said good-bye, perhapsforever, to his friends of The Colonial.
They were all standing with their arms about each other's waists or withtheir hands placed affectionately upon each other's shoulders as the busstarted, calling "Good-bye and good luck" with much waving ofhandkerchiefs. Only his aunt sat grim-visaged and motionless, refusingto concede so much as a glance in her nephew's direction.
Wallie, in turn, took off his girlish sailor and swung it through thebus window and wafted kisses at the dear, amiable folk of The Colonialuntil the motor had passed between the stately pillars of the entrance.Then he leaned back with a sigh and with the feeling of having "burnedhis bridges behind him."
The Dude Wrangler Page 6
