It was too much. The conversation was getting beyond my depth. I had followed him in a vague and misty way thus far, but this Aydipodayan Ipopaya was an obstacle which I could not in any way surmount. I halted short, full in front of that insurmountable obstacle. So far from surmounting it, I couldn’t even pretend to have the smallest idea what it was. I could not get over it, and therefore began to think of a general retreat.
I rose to my feet.
“Ye’re not going yit?” he said.
“Yes, but I am,” said I.
“Why, sure it’s airly enough,” said he.
“Yes,” said I, “it’s early enough, but it’s early the wrong way. It’s now,” said I, taking out my watch, “just twenty minutes of four. I must be off — really.”
“Well,” said O’Halloran, “I’m sorry ye’re going, but you know best what you must do.”
“And I’m sorrier,” said I, “for I’ve spent a most delightful evening.”
“Sure an’ I’m glad to hear ye say that. And ye’ll come again, won’t ye?”
“Nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
“Come tomorrow night thin,” said he.
“I shall be only too happy,” said I; and with these words I took my departure.
I went home, and went to bed at once. But I lay awake, a prey to many thoughts. Those thoughts did not refer to O’Halloran, or to his Aydipodayan Ipopaya, On the contrary, they referred altogether to the ladies, and to the manner in which they had heard my narrative.
What was the meaning of that?
And my speculations on this passed on even into my dreams, and thus carried me away into
Chapter 18
THE FOLLOWING MORNING. — APPEARANCE OF JACK RANDOLPH. — A NEW COMPLICATION. — THE THREE ORANGES. — DESPERATE EFFORTS OF THE JUGGLER. — HOW TO MAKE FULL, AMPLE, COMPLETE, AND MOST SATISFACTORY EXPLANATIONS. — MISS PHILLIPS! — THE WIDOW!! — NUMBER THREE!!! — LOUIE RAPIDLY RISING INTO GREATER PROMINENCE ON THE MENTAL AND SENTIMENTAL HORIZON OF JACK RANDOLPH.
“Well, old chap,” cried Jack, as he burst into my room on the following morning, “what the mischief were you doing with yourself all last night? Come, out with it. No humbug. I was here at twelve, lighted up, and smoked till — yes — I’ll be hanged if it wasn’t half-past two. And you didn’t come. What do you mean, my good fellow, by that sort of thing?”
“Oh,” said I, meekly, “I was passing the evening with a friend.”
“The evening! The night you mean.”
“Well, it was rather late,” said I. “The fact is, we got talking, and I was telling him about my adventure on the ice. We had been at the concert first, and then I went with him to his quarters. By-the-way, why weren’t you there?”
In this dexterous way I parried Jack’s question, for I did not feel inclined just yet to return his confidence. I am by nature, as the reader must by this time have seen, uncommonly reticent and reserved, and I wasn’t going to pour out my story and my feelings to Jack, who would probably go and tell it everywhere before the close of the day.
“The concert!” cried Jack, contemptuously — “the concert! My dear boy, are you mad? What’s a concert to me or I to a concert? A concert? My dear fellow, what kind of an idea have you formed of me, if you think that I am capable of taking part in any festive scene when my soul is crushed under such an accumulated burden of fuss and bother?”
“What, are you bothered still? Haven’t you begun to see your way through the woods?”
“See my way?” cried Jack. “Why, it’s getting worse and worse — ”
“Worse? I thought you had reached the worst when you were repulsed by Louie. What worse thing can happen than that? Weren’t all your thoughts on death intent? Didn’t you repeat your order for a gravestone?”
“True, old boy; very correct; but then I was just beginning to rally, you know, and all that, when down comes a new bother, and, if I weren’t so uncommonly fruitful in resource, this day would have seen an end of Jack Randolph. I see you’re rather inclined to chaff me about the gravestone, but I tell you what it is, Macrorie, if this sort of thing continues you’ll be in for it. I’ve pulled through this day, but whether I can pull through tomorrow or not is a very hard thing to say.”
At this Jack struck a match, and solemnly lighted his pipe, which all this time he had been filling.
“’Pon my word, old chap,” said I, “you seem bothered again, and cornered, and all that. What’s up? Any thing new? Out with it, and pour it into this sympathetic ear.”
Jack gave about a dozen solemn puffs. Then he removed his pipe with his left hand. Then with his right hand he stroked his brow. Then he said, slowly and impressively:
“She’s here!”
“She!” I repeated. “What she? Which? When? How?”
“Miss Phillips!” said Jack.
“Miss Phillips!” I cried. “Miss Phillips! Why, haven’t you been expecting her? Didn’t she write, and tell you that she was coming, and all that?”
“Yes; but then you know I had half an idea that some thing or other would turn up to prevent her actual arrival. There’s many a slip, you know, ’tween cup and lip. How did I know that she was really coming? It didn’t seem at all probable that any thing so abominably embarrassing should be added to all my other embarrassments.”
“Probable? Why, my dear fellow, it seems to me the most probable thing in the world. It’s always so. Misfortunes never come single. Don’t you know that they always come in clusters? But come, tell me all about it. In the first place, you’ve seen her, of course?”
“Oh, of course. I heard of her arrival yesterday morn, and went off at once to call on her. Her reception of me was not very flattering. She was, in fact, most confoundedly cool. But you know my way. I felt awfully cut up, and insisted on knowing the reason of all this. Then it all came out.”
Jack paused.
“Well, what was it?”
“Leedies, ’said O’Halloran, ‘allow me to inthrojuice to ye Captain Macrorie.’””
“Why, confound it, it seems that she had been here two days, and had been expecting me to come every moment. Now, I ask you, Macrorie, as a friend, wasn’t that rather hard on a fellow when he’s trying to do the very best he can, and is over head and ears in all kinds of difficulties? You know,” he continued, more earnestly, “the awful bothers I’ve had the last few days. Why, man alive, I had only just got her letter, and hadn’t recovered from the shock of that. And now, while I was still in a state of bewilderment at such unexpected news, here she comes herself! And then she begins to pitch into me for not calling on her before.”
“It was rather hard, I must confess,” said I, with my never-failing sympathy, “and how did it all end?”
Jack heaved a heavy — a very heavy sigh.
“Well,” said he, “it ended all right — for the time. I declared that I had not expected her until the following week; and, when she referred to certain passages in her letter, I told her that I had misunderstood her altogether, which was the solemn fact, for I swear, Macrorie, I really didn’t think, even if she did come, that she’d be here two or three days after her letter came. Two or three days — why, hang it all, she must have arrived here the very day I got her letter. The letter must have come through by land, and she came by the way of Portland. Confound those abominable mails, I say! What business have those wretched postmasters to send their letters through the woods and snow? Well, never mind. I made it up all right.”
“All right?”
“Oh, yes. I explained it all, you know. I cleared up every thing in the completest way. In fact, I made a full, ample, intelligible, and perfectly satisfactory explanation of the whole thing. I showed that it was all a mistake, you know — that I was humbugged by the mails, and all that sort of thing, you know. So she relented, and we made it all up, and I took her
out driving, and we had a glorious time, though the roads were awful — perfect lakes, slush no end, universal thaw, and all that. But we did the drive, and I promised to go there again today.”
“And did you call on the widow?”
“Oh, yes; but before I went there I had to write a letter to Number Three.”
“Number Three! You must have had your hands full?”
“Hands full? I should think I had, my boy. You know what agony writing a letter is to me. It took me two hours to get through it. You see I had written her before, reproaching her for not running off with me, and she had answered me. I got her answer yesterday morning. She wrote back a repetition of her reason for not going, and pleaded her father, who she said would go mad if she did such a thing. Between you and me, Macrorie, that’s all bosh. The man’s as mad as a March hare now. But this wasn’t all. What do you think? She actually undertook to haul me over the coals about the widow.”
“What! has she heard about it?”
“Oh, yes. Didn’t I tell you before that she kept the run of me pretty closely? Well, she’s evidently heard all about me and the widow, and accordingly, after a brief explanation about her father, she proceeded to walk into me about the widow. Now that was another shock. You see, the fact is, I pitched into her first for this very reason, and thought, if I began the attack, she’d have to take up a strictly defensive attitude. But she was too many guns for me. No go, my boy. Not with Number Three. She dodged my blow, and then sprang at me herself, and I found myself thrown on my defence. So you see I had to write to her at once.”
Jack sighed heavily, and quaffed some Bass.
“But how the mischief could you handle such a subject? Two hours! I should think so. For my part, I don’t see how you managed it at all.”
“Oh, I got through,” said Jack. “I explained it all, you know. I cleared up every thing in the completest way. In fact, I made a full, perfect, intelligible, ample, and satisfactory explanation — ”
“Oh, that’s all downright bosh now, old boy,” I interrupted. “How could you explain it? It can’t be explained.”
“But I did though,” said Jack. “I don’t remember how. I only know the letter struck me as just the thing, and I dropped it into the post-office when on my way to the widow’s.”
“The widow’s?”
“Yes, as soon as I finished the letter, I hurried off to the widow’s.”
“By Jove!” I cried, aghast. “So that’s the style of thing, is it? Look here, old man, will you allow me to ask you, in the mildest manner in the world, how long you consider yourself able to keep up this sort of thing?”
“Allow you? Certainly not. No questions, old chap. I don’t question myself, and I’ll be hanged if I’ll let anybody else. I’m among the breakers. I’m whirling down-stream. I have a strong sense of the aptness of Louie’s idea about the juggler and the oranges. But the worst of it is, I’m beginning to lose confidence in myself.”
And Jack leaned his head back, and sent out a long beam of smoke that flew straight up and hit the ceiling. After which he stared at me in unutterable solemnity.
“Well,” said I, “go on. What about the widow?”
“The widow — oh — when I got there I found another row.”
“Another?”
“Yes, another — the worst of all. But by this time I had grown used to it, and I was as serene as a mountain-lake.”
“But — the row — what was it about?”
“Oh, she had heard about my engagement to Miss Phillips, and her arrival; so she at once began to talk to me like a father. The way she questioned me — why the Grand Inquisitor is nothing to it. But she didn’t make any thing by it. You see I took up the Fabian tactics and avoided a direct engagement.”
“How’s that?”
“Why, I wouldn’t answer her.”
“How could you avoid it?”
“Pooh! — easy enough — I sat and chaffed her, and laughed at her, and called her jealous, and twitted her, no end. Well, you know, at last she got laughing herself, and we made it all up, and all that sort of thing, you know; still, she’s very pertinacious, and even after we made up she teased and teased, till she got an explanation out of me.”
“An explanation! What, another?”
“Oh, yes — easy enough — I explained it all, you know. I cleared up every thing perfectly. I made an ample, intelligible, full, frank, and thoroughly satisfactory explanation of the whole thing, and — ”
“What, again? Hang it, Jack, don’t repeat yourself. This is the third time that you’ve repeated those words verbatim.”
“Is it? Did I? Odd, too. Fact is, I believe I made up that sentence for my letter to Number Three, and I suppose I’ve got it by heart. At any rate, it’s all right. You see I had three explanations to make, and they all had to be full, frank, ample, satisfactory, and all the rest of those words, you know. But it’s awfully hard work. It’s wearing on the constitution. It destroys the nervous system. I tell you what it is, old chap — I’m serious — if this sort of thing is to go on, hang it, I’ll die of exhaustion.”
“So that was the end of your troubles for that day?”
“Well — yes — but not the end of my day. I got away from the widow by eight o’clock, and then trotted over to Louie.”
“Louie?”
“Yes, Louie. Why, man — why not?”
“What, after the late mitten?”
“Mitten? of course. What do you suppose I care for that? Isn’t Louie the best friend I have? Isn’t she my only comfort? Doesn’t she give magnificent advice to a fellow, and all that? Louie? Why, man alive, it’s the only thing I have to look forward to! Of course. Well, you see, Louie was luckily disengaged. The other girls were at whist with their father and the aunt. So I had Louie to myself.”
“I hope you didn’t do the sentimental again.”
“Sentimental? Good Lord! hadn’t I been overwhelmed and choked with sentiment all day long? Sentiment? Of all the bosh — but never mind. Louie at least didn’t bother me in that way. Yes, it’s a fact, Macrorie, she’s got an awful knack of giving comfort to a fellow.”
“Comfort?”
“Well, I can’t exactly explain it.”
“I suppose she was very sad, and sympathetic, and all that. At any rate, she didn’t know the real trouble that you’d been having?”
“Didn’t she, though?”
“No, of course not; how could she?”
“Why, she began questioning me, you know.”
“Questioning you?”
“Yes — about — the three oranges, you know.”
“Well, and how did you manage to fight her off?”
“Fight her off?”
“Yes.”
“Why, I couldn’t.”
“Couldn’t?”
“No.”
“Nonsense! A fellow that could baffle the widow, wouldn’t have any trouble in baffling Louie.”
“Oh, that’s all very well; but you don’t know the peculiar way she goes to work. She’s such an awful tease. And she keeps at it too, like a good fellow.”
“Still you were safe from her by reason of the very fact that your daily adventures were things that you could not tell her.”
“Couldn’t I, though?”
“Of course not.”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Impossible.”
“But I did.”
“You did?”
“I did.”
“To Louie?”
“Yes, to Louie.”
Again my thoughts and feelings found expression in a whistle.
“You see,” resumed Jack, “she badgered and questioned, and teased and teased, till at last she got it all out of me, And the way she took it! Laughing all the time, the provoking little witch, her e
yes dancing with fun, and her soul in a perfect ecstasy over my sorrows. I was quiet at first, but at length got huffy. You see if she cared for a fellow she ought to pity him instead of laughing at him.”
“But she doesn’t pretend to care for you — and lucky for her too.”
“That’s true,” said Jack, dolefully.
“But what did she say about it?”
“Say? Oh, she teased and teased, and then when she had pumped me dry she burst out into one of her fits — and then I got huffy — and she at once pretended to be very demure, the little sinner, though I saw her eyes twinkling with fun all the time. And at last she burst out:
“‘Oh, Captain Randolph! You’re so awfully absurd. I can’t help it, I must laugh. Now ain’t you awfully funny? Confess. Please confess, Captain Randolph. Ple-e-e-ease do, like a good Captain Randolph. Ple-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-ease!’
“So my grim features relaxed, and I looked benignly at her, whereupon she burst out laughing again in my face.
“‘Well, I can’t help it, I’m sure,’ she said. ‘You do look so droll. You try to make me laugh, and I laugh, and can’t help it, and then you blame me for doing the very thing you make me do, and I think it’s a shame — there, now.’
“Whereupon she began to pout, and look hurt, and so, you know, I had to go to work and explain to her.”
“What! not another explanation, I hope. A ‘full, frank, free, fresh, ample,’ and all that sort of thing, I suppose.”
“Oh, bother, chaff! I’m in earnest. I merely explained that I didn’t take any offence from her laughter, but that I thought that if she cared for a fellow she wouldn’t laugh at him.
“‘But, I never said I cared for you,’ said she.
“‘Oh, well — you know what I mean — you’re my friend, you know, and my only comfort,’ said I.
“At this she went off again.
“‘Well, then,’ said I, ‘ what are you?’
“She sat and thought.
“‘Well,’ said she, ‘I won’t be your friend, for that’s too cold; I won’t be your sister, for that’s too familiar. Let me see — what ought I to be? I can’t be your guardian, for I’m too volatile — what, then, can I be? Oh, I see! I’ll tell you, Captain Randolph, what I’ll be. I’ll pretend that I’m your aunt. There, sir.’
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