CHAPTER ONE
_In which the curtain rises on the Candy Wagon, and the leadingcharacters are thrown together in a perfectly logical manner byFate_.
The Candy Wagon stood in its accustomed place on the Y.M.C.A. corner.The season was late October, and the leaves from the old sycamores, inleague with the east wind, after waging a merry war with the janitor allmorning, had swept, a triumphant host, across the broad sidewalk, to liein heaps of golden brown along the curb and beneath the wheels of theCandy Wagon. In the intervals of trade, never brisk before noon, theCandy Man had watched the game, taking sides with the leaves.
Down the steps of the Y.M.C.A. building sauntered the Reporter.Perceiving the Candy Wagon at the curb he paused, scrutinising itjauntily, through a monocle formed by a thumb and finger.
The wagon, freshly emblazoned in legends of red, yellow and blue whichadvertised the character and merits of its wares, stood with itshorseless shafts turned back and upward, in something of a prayerfulattitude. The Reporter, advancing, lifted his arms in imitation, andrecited: "Confident that upon investigation you will find everything asrepresented, we remain Yours to command, in fresh warpaint." He seatedhimself upon the adjacent carriage block and grinned widely at theCandy Man.
In spite of a former determination to confine his intercourse with theReporter to strictly business lines, the Candy Man could not help aresponsive grin.
The representative of the press demanded chewing gum, and receiving it,proceeded to remove its threefold wrappings and allow them to slipthrough his fingers to the street. "Women," he said, with seemingirrelevance and in a tone of defiance, "used to be at the bottom ofeverything; now they're on top."
The Candy Man was quick at putting two and two together. "I infer youare not in sympathy with the efforts of the Woman's Club and the OutdoorLeague to promote order and cleanliness in our home city," he observed,his eye on the debris so carelessly deposited upon the publicthoroughfare.
"Right you are. Your inference is absolutely correct. The foundations ofthis American Commonwealth are threatened, and the _Evening Record_don't stand for it. Life's made a burden, liberty curtailed, happinesspursued at the point of the dust-pan. Here is the Democratic party ofthe State pledged to School Suffrage. The Equal Rights Association is tomeet here next month, and--the mischief is, the pretty ones are takingit up! The first thing you know the Girl of All Others will be saying,'Embrace me, embrace my cause.' Why, my Cousin Augustus met a regularpeach of a girl at the country club,--visiting at the GerrardPenningtons', don't you know, and almost the first question she askedhim was did he believe in equal rights?" The Reporter paused for breath,pushing his hat back to the farthest limit and regarding the Candy Mancuriously. "It is funny," he added, "how much you look like my CousinAugustus. I wonder now if he could have been twins, and one stolen bythe gypsies? You don't chance to have been stolen in infancy?"
This innocent question annoyed the Candy Man, although he ignored it,murmuring something to the effect that the Reporter's talents pointed tothe stump. It might have been a guilty conscience or merely impatienceat such flagrant nonsense, for surely he could not reasonably objectto resembling Cousin Augustus. The Candy Man was a well-enough lookingyoung fellow in his white jacket and cap, but nothing to brag of, thathe need be haughty about a likeness to one so far above him in thesocial scale, whom in fact he had never seen.
The Reporter lingered in thoughtful silence while some westboundtransfers purchased refreshment, then as a trio of theological studentspaused at the Candy Wagon, he restored his hat to its normal positionand strolled away. On the Y.M.C.A. corner business had waked up.
For some time the Candy Wagon continued to reap a harvest from the rushof High School boys and younger children. Morning became afternoon,the clouds which the east wind had been industriously beating upgathered in force, and a fine rain began to fall. The throng on thestreet perceptibly lessened; the Candy Man had leisure once more tolook about him.
A penetrating mist was veiling everything; the stone church, theseminary buildings, the tall apartment houses, the few old residencesnot yet crowded out, the drug store, the confectionery--all were softlyblurred. The asphalt became a grey lake in which all the colour andmovement of the busy street was reflected, and upon whose bosom theCandy Wagon seemed afloat. As the Candy Man watched, gleams of lightpresently began to pierce the mist, from a hundred windows, from passingstreet cars and cabs, from darting machines now transformed intostrange, double-eyed demons. It was a scene of enchantment, and withpleasure he felt himself part of it, as in his turn he lit up his wagon.
The traffic officer, whose shrill whistle sounded continually above theclang of the trolley cars and the hoarse screams of impatient machines,probably viewed the situation differently. Given slippery streets,intersecting car lines, an increasing throng of vehicles andpedestrians, with a fog growing denser each moment, and the utmostvigilance is often helpless to avert an accident. So it was now.
The Candy Man did not actually see the occurrence, but later itdeveloped that an automobile, in attempting to turn the corner,skidded, grazing the front of a car which had stopped to discharge somepassengers, then crashing into a telegraph pole on the opposite side ofthe street. What he did see was the frightened rush of the crowd to thesidewalk, and in the rush, a girl, just stepping from the car, caughtand carried forward and jostled in such a manner that she lost herfooting and fell almost beneath the wheels of the Candy Wagon, anddangerously near the hoofs of a huge draught horse, brought by itsdriver to a halt in the nick of time.
The Candy Man was out and at her side in an instant, assisting herto rise. The panic swept past them, leaving only a long-legged childin a red tam, and a sad-faced elderly man in its wake. The Candy Manhad seen all three before. The wearer of the red tam was one of theapartment-house children, the sad man was popularly known to theneighbourhood as the Miser, and the girl, to whose assistance he hadsprung--well, he had seen her on two previous occasions.
As she stood in some bewilderment looking ruefully at the mud on hergloves and skirt, the merest glance showed her to be the sort of girlany one might have been glad to help.
"Thank you, I am not hurt--only rather shaken," she said in answer tothe Candy Man.
"Here's your bag," announced the long-legged child, fishing it out ofthe soggy mass of leaves beneath the wagon. "And you need not worryabout your skirt. Take it to Bauer's just round the corner; they'llclean it," she added.
The owner of the bag received it and the accompanying advice with anadorable smile in which there was merriment as well as appreciation.The Miser plucked the Candy Man by the sleeve and asked if the younglady did not wish a cab.
She answered for herself. "Thank you, no; I am quite all right--onlymuddy. But was it a bad accident? What happened?"
The Miser crossed the street where the crowd had gathered, toinvestigate, and returning reported the chauffeur probably done for.While he was gone the conductor of the street car appeared in quest ofthe names and addresses of everybody within a radius of ten blocks. Inthis way the Candy Man learned that her name was Bentley. She gave itreluctantly, as persons do on such occasions, and he failed to catchher street and number.
"I'm very sorry! I suppose there is nothing one can do?" she exclaimed,apropos of the chauffeur, and the next the Candy Man knew she waswalking away in the mist hand in hand with the long-legged child.
"An unusually charming face," the Miser remarked, raising his umbrella.
To the sober mind "unusually charming" would seem a not unworthycompliment, but the Candy Man, as he resumed his place in the wagon,smiled scornfully at what he was pleased to consider its grotesqueinadequacy. If he had anything better to offer, the Miser did not stayto hear it, but with a courteous "good evening" disappeared in histurn in the mist. An ambulance carried away the injured man, the crowddispersed; the remains of the machine were towed away to a near-bygarage. Night fell; the throng grew less, the rain gathered courage andbecame a downpour. There would be lit
tle doing in the way of businessto-night.
As he made ready for early closing the Candy Man fell to thinking of thegirl whose name was Bentley. Not that the name interested him save as ameans of further identification. It was a phrase used by the Reporterthis morning that occurred to him now as peculiarly applicable to her.The Girl of All Others! He rolled it as a sweet morsel under his tongue,undisturbed by the reflection that such descriptive titles are atpresent overworked--in dreams one has no need to be original.
Neither did it strike him as incongruous that he should have seen herfirst in the grocery kept by Mr. Simms, who catered to the needs of suchas got their own breakfasts, and whose boiled ham was becoming famous,because it was really done. He went back to the experience, dwellingwith pleasure upon each detail of it, even his annoyance at the grocer'sdaughter, who exchanged crochet patterns with the tailor's wife, afterthe manner of a French exercise, and ignored him. It was early andbusiness had not yet begun on the Y.M.C.A. corner; still he could notwait forever. The grocer himself, who was attending to the wants of alean and hungry-looking student, had just handed his rolls and smokedsausage across the counter, with a cheery "Breakfast is ready, ring thebell," when the door opened and the Girl of All Others came in.
She was tallish, but not very tall, and somewhat slight. She wore a greysuit--the same which had suffered this afternoon from contact with thestreet, and a soft felt hat of the same colour jammed down anyhow on herbright hair and pinned with a pinkish quill--or so it looked. The facebeneath the bright hair was---- But at this point in his recollectionsthe Candy Man all but lost himself in a maze of adjectives and adverbs.We know, at least, how the long-legged child ran to help, and finallywent off hand in hand with her, and what the Miser said of her, andafter all the best the Candy Man could do was to go back to theReporter's phrase.
He had withdrawn a little behind a stack of breakfast foods where hecould watch her, wondering that the clerks did not drop their severalcustomers without ceremony and fly to do her bidding. She stood besidethe counter and made overtures to a large Maltese cat who reposed therein solemn majesty. Beside the Maltese rose a pyramid of canned goods,and a placard announced, "Of interest to light house keepers." Upon thisher eyes rested in evident surprise. "I didn't know there were anylighthouses in this part of the country," she said half aloud.
MARGARET ELIZABETH]
The Maltese laid a protesting paw upon her arm. It was not, however, theabsurdity of her remark, but the cessation of her caresses he protestedagainst. At the same moment her eyes met those of the Candy Man, acrossthe stack of breakfast foods. His were laughing, and hers were instantlywithdrawn. He saw her colour mounting as she exclaimed, addressing thecat, "How perfectly idiotic!"
He longed to assure her it was a perfectly natural mistake, the placardbeing but an amateurish affair; but he lacked the courage.
And then the grocer, having disposed of another customer, advanced toserve her, and the grocer's daughter, it seemed, was also at leisure;and though he would have preferred to watch the Girl of All Others doingthe family marketing in a most competent manner, a thoughtful fingerupon her lip, the Candy Man was forced to attend to his own business.In selecting a basket of grapes and ordering them sent to St. Mary'sHospital, he presently lost sight of her.
Once since then she had passed his corner on her way up the street.That was all until to-night. It seemed probable that she lived in theneighbourhood. Perhaps the Reporter would know.
Just here the recollection that he was a Candy Man brought him up short.His bright dreams began to fade. The Girl of All Others should of coursebe able to recognise true worth, even in a Candy Wagon, but such is thepower of convention he was forced to own to himself it was more thanpossible she might not. Or if she did, her friends----
But these disheartening reflections were curtailed by the suddenappearance of a stout, grey horse under the conduct of a small boy. Theshafts were lowered, the grey horse placed between them, and, after afew more preliminaries, the Candy Wagon, Candy Man and all, were removedfrom the scene of action, leaving the Y.M.C.A. corner to the rain andthe fog, the gleaming lights, and the ceaseless clang of the trolleycars.
The Little Red Chimney: Being the Love Story of a Candy Man Page 2
