Produced by Charles Franks and the Online DistributedProofreading Team. HTML version by Al Haines.
CUPID'S UNDERSTUDY
by
Edward Salisbury Field
Chapter One
If Dad had been a coal baron, like Mr. Tudor Carstairs, or astock-watering captain of industry, like Mrs. Sanderson-Spear's husband,or descended from a long line of whisky distillers, like Mrs.Carmichael Porter, why, then his little Elizabeth would have beenallowed the to sit in seat of the scornful with the rest of the FourHundred, and this story would never have been written. But Dadwasn't any of these things; he was just an old love who had madeseven million dollars by the luckiest fluke in the world.
Everybody in southern California knew it was a fluke, too, so theseven millions came in for all the respect that would otherwise havefallen to Dad. Of course we were celebrities, in a way, but in avery horrid way. Dad was Old Tom Middleton, who used to keep alivery-stable in San Bernardino, and I was Old Tom Middleton's girl,"who actually used to live over a livery-stable, my dear!" It soundsfearfully sordid, doesn't it?
But it wasn't sordid, really, for I never actually lived over astable. Indeed, we had the sweetest cottage in all San Bernardino. Iremember it so well: the long, cool porch, the wonderful gold-of-Ophirroses, the honeysuckle where the linnets nested, the mockingbirds that sang all night long; the perfume of the jasmine, of theorange-blossoms, the pink flame of the peach trees in April, theever-changing color of the mountains. And I remember Ninette, mylittle Creole mother, gay as a butterfly, carefree as a meadow-lark.'Twas she who planted the jasmine.
My little mother died when I was seven years old. Dad and I and myold black mammy, Rachel, stayed on in the cottage. The mocking-birdsstill sang, and the linnets still nested in the honeysuckle, butnothing was ever quite the same again. It was like a differentworld; it was a different world. There were gold-of-Ophir roses,and, peach blossoms in April, but there was no more jasmine; Dad hadit all dug up. To this day he turns pale at the sight of it--poorDad!
When I was twelve years old, Dad sold out his hardware business,intending to put his money in an orange grove at Riverside, but thenicest livery-stable in San Bernardino happened to be for sale justthen, so he bought that instead, for he was always crazy abouthorses.
To see me trotting about in Paquin gowns and Doucet models, you'dnever think I owed them to three owlish little burros, would you?But it's a fact. When Dad took over the livery-stable, he found hewas the proud possessor of three donkeys, as well as some twenty-oddhorses, and a dozen or so buggies, buckboards and surries. Theburros ate their solemn heads off all winter, but in May it had beenthe custom to send them to Strawberry Valley in charge of a Mexicanwho hired them out to the boarders at the summer hotel there.Luckily for us, when Fortune came stalking down the main street ofSan Bernardino to knock at the door of the Golden Eagle Stables,both dad and the burros were at home. If either had been out, wemight be poor this very minute.
It is generally understood that when Fortune goes a-visiting, shegoes disguised, so it's small wonder Dad didn't recognize her atfirst. She wasn't even a "her"; she was a he, a great, awkward Swedewith mouse-colored hair and a Yon Yonsen accent--you know the kind--slowto anger; slow to everything, without "j" in his alphabet--bythe name of Olaf Knutsen.
Now Olaf was a dreamer. Not the conventional sort of a dreamer, whosees beauty in everything but an honest day's work, but a brawny,pick-swinging dreamer who had dug holes in the ground at the end ofmany rainbows. That he had never yet uncovered the elusive pot ofgold didn't seem to bother him in the least; for him, that tenderplant called Hope flowered perennially. And now he was bent onfollowing another rainbow; a rainbow which; arching over themountains, ended in that arid, pitiless waste known in the southcountry as Death Valley.
He wouldn't fail this time. No, by Yimminy! With Dad's three burros,and plenty of bacon and beans and water--it was to be a grub-stake,of course--he would make both their fortunes. And the beautiful partabout it was, he did.
No doubt you have heard of the famous Golden Eagle mine. Well,that's what Olaf and the three burros found in Death Valley. Goodold Olaf! He named the mine after Dad's livery-stable in SanBernardino, and he insisted on keeping only a half interest, eventhough Dad fought him about it. You see, Dad didn't have thereputation of being the squarest man in San Bernardino for nothing.
Chapter Two
My mother's family had never approved of her marriage with Dad, butDad, poor and running a hardware shop or a livery-stable, and Dadwith a fortune in his hands were two very different people--fromtheir standpoint, at least; so as soon as Olaf and the three burrosstruck it rich, Dad sold his livery-stable, and mammy Rachel and Iwere bundled off to Ninette's relations in New Orleans. I didn'tlike it a bit at first, but one can get used to anything in time.Ninette's maiden sister, Miss Marie Madeline Antoinette HortensePrevost, was awfully nice to me; so was grandmere Prevost. I livedwith them till I was sixteen, when I was sent to France.
If I wanted to (and you would let me) I could personally conduct youto Paris, where if you were ten feet tall and not averse to staring,you could look over a certain gray stone wall on the Boulevard desInvalides, and see me pacing sedately up and down the gravel walksin the garden of the Convent of the Sacred Heart. That is, you couldhave seen me three years ago. I'm not there now, thank goodness! I'min California.
And just one word before we go any further any further. I don't wantyou to think for a minute that I came back from Paris a littleFrenchified miss. No, indeed! I'm as American as they make them.When I boasted to the other girls, whether in Paris or New Orleans,I always boasted about two things: Dad and California. And I've anidea I'll go on boasting about them till my dying day.
Of course, when I returned from Paris, Dad met me in New York. Itwas a good thing he was rich, for it took a lot of money to get meand my seven trunks through the custom-house. It might have takenmore, though, if it hadn't been for a young man who came over on thesame boat.
He was such a good-looking young man; tall and broad-shouldered andfair, with light-brown hair, and the nicest eyes you ever saw. Itwasn't their color so much (his eyes were blue) as the way theylooked at you that made them so attractive. He was awfully wellbred, too! He noticed me a lot on the boat (I had a perfect love ofa Redfern coat to wear on deck), but he didn't try to scrapeacquaintance with me. He worshipped from afar (a woman can alwaystell when a man's thinking about her), and while I wouldn't have hadhim act otherwise for the world, I was crazy to have him speak tome.
Our boat docked at Hoboken, and by tipping right and left I managedto be the very first passenger down the gangway. I half ran, halfslid, but I landed in Dad's arms.
My boxes and bags passed through the custom-house with flyingcolors. But my trunks--I couldn't even find them all. Five of themwere stacked in the "M" division, but the other two.... Thenthere was my maid's trunk to look for under the "V's" (her name isValentine). Dad and I were commencing at "A," prepared to gotthrough the whole alphabet, if necessary, when the nice young manstepped up and, raising his hat, asked if he might be of anyservice. He asked Dad, but he looked at me.
"Oh, If you please!" I said "I've lost two trunks. My brand is awhite, 'M' in a red circle."
"I noticed them in the 'R' pile" he replied. "I'll have them movedto the 'M's' right away."
"Now that's what I call being decent," said Dad, as soon as theyoung man had left us. "Did you notice, he didn't wear a uniform?Probably an inspector, or something of the sort, eh, Elizabeth?"
"Well--er--not exactly," I managed to say. "The fact is, Dad, hecame over on the boat with me, and--"
Dad looked thoughtful.
"He never spoke to me once the whole trip," I added hastily.
Dad looked less thoughtful.
"It was nice of him to wait till I had you with me, wasn't it?"
Dad smiled. "If you think it was, it probably was, my dear," hesaid.
Chapter Three
The nice young man did more than find my missing trunks; he found acustom-house officer, and, after asking me privately which trunkscontained my most valuable possessions and how much I had thought ofdeclaring, he succeeded in having them passed through on my ownvaluation without any undue exposure of their contents.
By this time Dad had grown very respectful. To see his littleElizabeth treated like a queen, while on all sides angry women werehaving their best gowns pawed over and mussed; was a most wholesomelesson. He paid the thousand and odd dollars duty like a little man.
We'd been saved a lot of bother, and nobody hates a lot of bothermore than Dad. So when the trunks were locked and strapped and readyto be sent to our hotel, Dad went up to the nice young man and said:"I'm Tom Middleton, from California, and this is my daughterElizabeth. We're both very grateful to you, and if you should everhappen to come to California, I hope you'll look us up."
That's Dad all over!
I never saw anybody look so pleased as the young man: "My name'sPorter," he said, "Blakely Porter. If my mother were in New York Iwould ask if she might call on Miss Middleton, but, as it happens,she's in California, where I intend to join her, so I shall lookforward to seeing you there."
Then Dad did just the right thing. "What's the use of waiting tillwe get to California?" he said. "Why not dine with us to-night!"
There are people, merely conventional people, who could neverappreciate the fine directness and simplicity, of Dad's nature--notif they lived to be a thousand years old. But Mr. Blakely Porterunderstood perfectly; I know he did, for he told me so afterwards."It was the greatest compliment I ever had paid me in my life," hesaid. "Your father knew nothing about me, absolutely nothing, yet heinvited me to dine with him--and you. It was splendid, splendid!"
The dear boy didn't know, perhaps, that honesty shone in his eyes,that one could not look at him and deny he was a gentleman. And, ofcourse, I didn't enlighten him, for it is well for men,particularly, young men, to feel grateful, and the least bit humble;it keeps them from being spoiled.
But to return to the dinner invitation: Mr. Porter accepted iteagerly. "It is more than kind of you," he said. "My mother is away,and her house is closed. It is my first home-coming in four years,and I should have been lonely to-night."
And poor Dad, who has been lonely--oh, so lonely!--ever sinceNinette died, shook hands with him, and said: "If my daughter and Ican keep you from feeling lonely, we shall be so glad. We arestopping at The Plaza, and we dine at half past seven."
Then Mr. Porter found us a taxi-cab, and away we went.
It was good to be in America again. I made Dad stop the car, andhave the top put back, even though it was freezing cold, for I hadnever been in New York before (when I'd gone to France, I had sailedfrom New Orleans) and I wanted to see everything. The tallbuildings, the elevated, even the bad paving till we got to FifthAvenue, interested me immensely, as they would any one to whom.Paris had been home, and New York a foreign city. Not that I hadever thought of Paris as my real home; home was, where my heartwas--with Dad. I tried to make him understand how, happy I was to bewith him, how I had missed him, and California.
"So you missed your old father; did you, girlie?"
"Yes, Dad."
"And you'll be glad to go to California?"
"Oh, so glad!"
"Then," said Dad, "we'll start tomorrow."
Our rooms at the hotel were perfect; there was a bed room and bathfor me a bed room and bath for Dad, with a sitting room between, allfacing the Park. And there were roses everywhere; huge AmericanBeauties, dear, wee, pink roses, roses of flaming red. I turned toDad, who was standing in the middle of the sitting room, beaming atme. "You delightful old spendthrift!" I cried. "What do you mean bybuying millions of roses? And in the middle of January too! Youdeserve to be disciplined, and you shall be."
"Discipline is an excellent thing; even if it does disturb the setof one's tie," Dad remarked thoughtfully, a moment later.
"I couldn't help hugging you, Daddy."
"My dear, that hug of yours was the sweetest thing that has happenedto your dad in many a long year."
And then, of course, I had to hug him again.
After luncheon (we had it in our sitting room) Dad asked if I wouldenjoy a drive through the Park.
"I should enjoy it immensely," I said, "but I can't possibly go."
You see, there was a trunk to unpack, the one holding my prettiestdinner gown. Of course Valentine was quite capable of attending tothe unpacking. Still, one likes to inspect everything one is towear, especially when one is expecting a guest to dinner. "Then,"said Dad, "I think I'll order dinner, and go for a walk, shall wehave dinner here?"
"Oh, by all means! This is so much more homelike than a publicdining room."
"I'll not be gone more than an hour or two... Hullo! Come in."
A small boy entered, carrying a box quite as big as himself. "ForMiss Middleton," he said.
"Another present from you, Dad?"
"Open it, my dear."
"I thought so," he remarked, as the removal of the cover displayedmore American Beauties. (There were five dozen;) I counted themafter Dad had gone. Another million roses and in the middle ofJanuary! "Who's the spendthrift this time, Elizabeth?"
"His name," I said, slipping a card: from the envelope that lay on ahuge bow of red ribbon, "is Mr. Blakely Porter."
Although I know, now, there are many things more beautiful, Ibelieved, then, that nothing more beautiful had ever happened; forit was the first time a man had ever sent me roses. Nineteen yearsold, and my first roses! They made me so happy. Paris seemed veryfar away; the convent was a mythical place I had seen in a dream;nothing was real but Dad, and America, and the roses somebody, hadsent. Somebody!
Chapter Four
Mr. Porter arrived on time to the minute, looking perfectly splendidin a wonderful furlined coat. And if his eyes were anxious, and hismanner a bit constrained at first, it didn't last long; Dad'sgreeting was too cordial, not to make him feel at home. Indeed, hetalked delightfully all through dinner, and with the coffee, halflaughingly, half apologizingly told us the story of his life. "For,"said he, "although I feel as if I'd known you always," (he looked atDad, but I was sure he meant me, too) "you may not feel the same inregard to me--and I want you to."
It was sweet to see Dad grow almost boyish in his insistence that hefelt as Mr. Porter did. "Nonsense!" he said. "It seems the mostnatural thing in the world to have you here. Doesn't it Elizabeth!"
It was rather embarrassing to be asked such a question in Mr.Porter's presence, but I managed to murmur a weak "Yes, indeed!"Inside, though, I felt just as Dad did, and I was fearfullyinterested in Mr. Porter's account of himself. I could see, too,that he belittled the real things, and magnified the unimportant.According to his narrative, the unimportant things were that he wasa civil engineer, that he had been in Peru building a railroad foran English; syndicate, and that the railroad was now practicallycompleted; he seemed, however, to attach great importance to thecable that had called him to London to appear before a board ofdirectors, for that had been the indirect means of his takingpassage on the same ship with me. Then there was the wonderful factthat he was to see us in California. He had been in harness now forfour years, he said, and he felt as if he'd earned a vacation. Atall events, he meant to take one.
As neither he nor Dad would hear of my leaving them to their cigars,I sat by and listened, and loved it all, every minute of it. Ididn't know, then (I don't know to this day) whether I liked Mr.Porter best for being so boyish, or so manly. But manly men whoretain all the enthusiasms of youth have a certain charm one likesinstinctively, I think.
There is no doubt that Mr. Porter quite captivated Dad. "You make mefeel like a boy," he said, after listening to a
delightfullywhimsical account of conditions in Peru. "By George, that's acountry for you! And Ecuador, I've always thought that must be aninteresting place. Have you ever been there?"
Yes, Mr. Porter had been to Ecuador. And there was a certainrail-road in India he had helped put through. India! Now that WAS aplace! Had Dad ever been to India?
No, Dad had never been to India, but... "Good Lord, boy, how oldare you, anyway?"
"Thirty-two."
"Well, I never would have guessed it. Would you, Elizabeth?"
This, too, was rather embarrassing, but I managed to say I thoughtMr. Porter didn't look a day over twenty-eight.
"It's the life he leads," Dad declared with an air ofproprietorship--"out of doors all day long. It must be great!"
"It IS interesting. But I think I like it best for what it has donefor one; you see, I was supposed to have lungs once, long ago. NowI'm as sound as a dollar."
"He looks it, doesn't he, Elizabeth!"
If Dad hadn't been such a dear, I should have been annoyed by hisconstant requests for my opinion where it was so obviouslyunnecessary. But Dad is such a dear. To make it worse, Mr. Porterseemed to consider that whether he was, or was not, as sound as adollar, depended entirely on my answer.
"One would think I was a sort of supreme court from the way Dadrefers all questions to me. But I warn you, Mr. Porter; my 'yes' or'no' makes little difference in his opinions."
"You are my supreme court, and they do," declared Dad.
"I'm sure they do," said Mr. Porter,
"When the novelty of having me with you has worn off, you'll be yoursame old domineering self, Daddy dear."
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