My Goddaughter.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XV, Issue V, 3 August 1895, Page 132

My Goddaughter.

(By

GUSTAV KOBBE.)

Illustrations by Oliver Herford.

I. AM a man of plain name—John Jones! Could any name be plainer ? Hardly. lam grateful for it. It has saved me from being brilliant. No man named John Jones could possibly be brilliant. I am a mediocre man. Hence I have been successful. For only the brilliant fail. Perhaps I may better describe myself by saying that I am an average man. lam a good average church-goer, and a good average sinner. I am also a good average business man in a good average business, which pays good average profits. I manufacture buttons, and am proud of it.

Why shouldn’t Ibe ? My buttons are the best on the market. I design them myself. I never boasted of being a decorative artist, but my buttons are a go. My designs are unique, but not obtrusive. A button, you will agree, should not detract attention from the garment to which it is attached. It should not be bizarre. (I have found that a telling term in selling buttons—so few people know what it means.) My buttons harmonize. I don’t know much about music, but I appreciate harmony in buttons. In fact—take me on buttons—and I’m your man !

Ido my designing in summer. This season I always spend at the sea-shore —not because I want to steal designs from the seaweed, the stunted cedars, or the flowers that bloom in the salt meadows (though I am fond of these in my own average way, and a starfish once suggested one of my most popular centre designs), but because I like to sit on a piazza and look out on the ocean until some idea for a design strikes me, when I withdraw to what, if I wished to put on airs, I might call my studio, and put the idea on paper. Though I am a plain man there is one thing about me which is not plain—my goddaughter. She is beautiful, and her beauty is simply the reflection of her disposition. I am even prouder of her than of my buttons ; and if vou knew me jou’d know what that means. I have spent some twenty-five summers at the seashore, and nearly always in the same place on the Jersey coast. It is a delightful spot—a strip of land with the ocean on one side and a bay on the other, so that no matter from what direction the wind blows it comes across salt water and is cool. I enjoy the varying moods of the sea—its ripples and its breakers, its murmurs and its roars. Its moods change so often that it never seems to me to know its own mind. I always know my own mind, so that it always tickles me to watch this mighty thing that doesn’t. If it were a kitten it wouldn’t give me any pleasure. But a thing that reaches clear across to Spain, and from the South to the North Pole, besides rounding Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope is a pretty big affair, and it always pleases me to look at it and think that, big as it is, it hasn’t the stability, let alone the business head, of plain John Jones. I have thought it well to explain this for fear you might think that possibly my love of the sea was a yearning for the esthetic. I couldn’t be esthetic if I tried ever so hard. lam not willowy enough. After all, being esthetic iss'mply a matter of anatomy. Given a backbone supple enough to enable you to be willowy, and your reputation as an esthete is assured. Twenty years ago my partner, who had been a friend of mine for many years, and between whom and myself not a disagreeable word had passed in all our business relations, died. He was a widower, with one child, a daughter, eight years old at the time of his death. When he knew that the malady from which he suffered would prove fatal, he asked me if he could place his daughter in my charge. It was a request from a friend to a friend, and I answered at once that I would not only take her, but care for her as if she were not only my goddaughter, but actually my own daughter. He had an older sister, a Mrs Malvinia Owen, but he did not wish her to have the care of the girl. Mrs Owen was married, rejoiced in children of her own, and, as might perhaps be judged by her name, had very decided views on their management, with some of which he did not agree. Moreover, with the unerring instinct of a loving father, he knew his daughter would feel a difference between herself and his sister’schildren as she grew older. Somehow he didn’t seem to think,John Jones would ever marry. Nor were these his only reasons for not wishing her to live with his sister. Marianne had a peculiar trait that might easily expose her to ridicule among children, and with his kind, far-seeing, fatherly eyes, he could see her crying under the taunts of various cousins, male and female. He seemed to take it for granted that under my roof she would never have a rival. 1 suppose he assumed that a man named John Jones, who manufactured buttons, could never get up enough romance over womankind to think of marriage ; but he forgot, when he put me down tor a confirmed old bachelor, that he himself, who rejoiced in the name of James Smith, and also manufactured buttons, had succumbed. Seriously, however, I think the deep interest which he saw I took in little Marianne first suggested to him the idea that I would be the best person to care for her. I regarded it as the greatest tribute he could pay to a friend. lam a man of few words, and when I say he and I were friends that seems to me all that need be said of our affection for one another. I have often heard people say of friends that they loved each other like brothers. I can say a good deal more for ourselves—we loved each other like friends.

He spent the last summer of his life in a cottage beside mine at the seashore, reaching the place a few days before I did. I arrived there of a Saturday night. By the time 1 went to his cottage Marianne was asleep, but as we were sitting there on the piazza he asked me during a lull in our talk about the button market, if I would like to go upstairs and take a peep at her. Curiously enough, I had not seen her since the year of her christening. His wife before she died had been abroad a good deal seeking to recover her health, and had taken Marianne with her; and since his wife’s death he had lived in the country. My partner was a large heavy man, and carried himself with an air of authority. When he entered ou' factory in the morning his presence seemed to pervade the whole building ; everyone in it seemed to know that the junior partner had arrived. The senior partner’s arrival made less of an impression. He was ‘on the road ’so much that the factory had not become as sensitive to his personality as to that of the junior partner. When, therefore, after a warning gesture intended for the benefit of my poor, uninitiated self, my partner began ascending the stairs on tip-toe like a burglar in the night, one hand on the bannister, the other still held warningly back towards me —when I contrasted him at this moment with the magnificent figure whose magnetism pervaded a whole button factory, I could not suppress a titter. He turned quickly with a frown This struck me as so funny that I missed a step and slipped. In doing so some noise was unavoidable. Smith bounded up the balance of the stairs, and when I reached the head of the flight he was standing at an open door, a finger on his lips. I joined him and looked in A little figure in snowy linen was sitting up in a crib, and a sleepy little voice said : * Have you come, mamma ?’ Then the small figure fell back and nothing but the light, regular breathing of the little sleeper came from the crib. My partner put a hand on my shoulder and

bowed his head. Sorrow in a large man always seems double sorrow to me. I knew his feelings, for I knew what memories his daughter’s words had awakened. A friend knows when sympathy is best expressed by silence ; and so, after a while, we went softly downstairs and parted for the night.

The next morning, while I was sitting on my piazza, a girlish figure darted out of my partner’s cottage on to the plank walk along the low sand bluff upon which the cottages stood. The child was not near enough for me to see her features distinctly ; but I could notice the golden brown gleam of her hair in the sunlight (I am up in tints, having to study them in dress fabrics in connection with my business), and saw that she was extremely graceful. Indeed, I had never observed any one so light afoot as she was. I had often heard the expression ‘ treading on air ’ without realizing its exact meaning. I realized it now, for that was precisely what she appeared to be doing. She seemed the incarnation of graceful vivaciousness, and quite fascinated me. She would throw out her right arm with a graceful sweep, then bring both hands together in front of her, and then dance about with glee. This performance she repeated again and again, occasionally, however, varying it by running off a little way and apparently picking up something from the sand. At times she ran down the little bluff, and it was a perfect joy to see her bound up again.

As I watched her, there seemed, too, some method in what she was doing; and by carefully noting her actions I discovered that she w.s apparently throwing a

ball against the front of the cottage and catching it on the rebound, or, when it eluded her, running after it and picking it up. But there was no ball. Yet she was enjoying the sport just as much as if there bad been. This would have seemed witless—alarmingly so, perhaps—had not her actions been so enchantingly graceful ; for one’s sense of the ludicrous was quite lost in admiration of the lithe, active figure.

Suddenly she broke of from her play, and running to the side of the house, called: * Here Rover ! Rover !’ at the same time holding out her hand and patting her knee as people do when calling a dog. But the burly Newfoundlandler (as I judged him to be from his name) did not appear. Then she darted behind the house,and I could hear her alternately coaxing and scolding—all apparently to no avail. Soon she reappeared, and turning, shook her finger at the obstinate dog, striking an attitude so charming that had there been a kodak about it would certainly have snapped automatically. She then resumed her curious ball play without a bail. I don’t know how long I would have continued to watch her graceful motions, for they quite fascinated me; but, what I may term a business matter diverted my attention. In fumbling with my fingers about one of the buttons of my coat I discovered that it had slightly torn the buttonhole. As a matter of personal comfort I should prefer having my own buttons on my clothes, but as a matter of business I always wear the buttons of other manufacturers, so that I may discover, by practically testing them their defects, and avoid these in the buttons of my own manufacture. You see I adopt every means that will enable me to turn out the best button in the market. While I was examining the particular button in question, with a view of discovering the defect that had caused the fatal tear, I heard a pleasant voice say : * Good morning !’ and looking up saw my little friend standing in front of me. I had never before paid much attention to children, but I had been attracted strangely to the little white figure of the night before. Her pathetic question had touched me as much as her grace on this morning had charmed me. Now I saw before me a picture of childish loveliness. Her hair, as I have already said, was golden bronze ; her eyes were a deep, clear brown ; her cheeks rosy with health and roguishly dimpled. She was dressed in a loose white gown that fitted her airy grace, and there was in her whole appearance that ineffable something which we call attractive, and which really means so much more than mere beauty. * Good-morning,’ I replied. ‘ Rover doesn’t appear to mind very well.’ * He’s lazy,’ she said. ‘ But I’ll bring him around if you'want to see him.’ ‘ Is he a Newfoundland ?’ I asked. ‘ Oh, no !’ she cried ; ‘ better than that ! He’s a St. Bernard—a real St. Bernard !’ My curiosity was quite roused by this announcement, and so I told her. ‘ Then I’ll make him come over here right away !’ she exclaimed. ‘He likes to show off. He’s as proud as a peacock.’ And away she darted. I heard her coaxing and scolding again, and finally say : ‘ There, come along now like a good fellow. ’ Soon she re-appeared. She was a little inclined to the right, held her right arm slightly away from her side, while her hand was closed as if it were holding something, and at the same time she walked as if some large object beside her impeded her progress. She might have been leading a large dog by the collar—but

there was no dog. When she reached my piazza steps she relaxed her hold upon the imaginary dog-collar, drew herself up, threw her head back, and with a sweeping gesture, said : •There! Isn’t he a beauty ?’ • Yes, indeed !’ I answered. ‘ He’s a trick dog, too.’ ‘ You don't say so !’ I exclaimed. ‘ Oh, yes. I’ll put him through some of his tricks for you. Here Rover!’ She stooped as if to pick up a piece of driftwood and threw it from her. ’Oo 00-00-00 !’ she crooned. ‘ See him retrieve ! Doesn’t he look proud coming back with it? Here, Rover! Good Rover! That’s a good old fellow!’ and she stroked his back.

‘ Up on your hind legs now !’ she commanded, raising a hand as if motioning him to rise. ‘ Look at him ! Isn’t he a big fellow ? Now down ! Give me a paw!’ She held out her hand and gave the big paw a hearty shake. She allowed me a little more time in which to admire the noble brute, and then led him back again out of sight behind my partner’s house. ■ Down, Rover! Down!’ I heard her cry. Then she ran, singing gaily, into the house. She acted so naturally that it was some time before I realised that there had been no dog—no more than there had been a ball. I began to wonder if I were really awake or only dreaming. But, as I let my hand slip down my coat, there was the torn buttonhole and the faulty button—made by one of my biggest competitors, too. Marianne did not remain long in the house. When she reappeared she began running about swiftly, yet so gracefully that it was a joy to watch her. She would

dash along, then suddenly swerve, turn and speed away in another direction, laughing and looking over her shoulder as if at some pursuer. Then she would slow down and allow herself to be caught, only to dash after her playmate, who was not swift enough to elude her for any considerable time. I could not say how long this continued ; but at last, having been chased around the house, she dropped gracefully down on the steps, and protested, as she seemed to gently push her playmate away from her, that she was too tired to run any longer. * Now, don’t go off in a sulk, Tom !' she called, looking down the plank walk, as if Tom had gone that way. When she rested she came over again to where I sat. ‘Tom’s a funny boy, isn’t he?’ she asked. Just because I’m tired running about he goes off mad. But he’ll soon be back again. He’d rather play with me than with any of his boy friends—even if I’m only his sister.’

She said this in an old-wise way that was simply captivating. I remembered that my partner had lost a boy a few years before—but here he was still romping with Marianne.

* Are you going in bathing to-day ?’ I asked. * Oh,yes, ’ she said. ‘ But I hope no one will untie Rover. When he sees me in the water he just dashes in, catches my bathing-suit between his teeth, and tries to drag me ashore. You see, he thinks I’m drowning and tries to save me. It’s very nice of him, I’m sure, but it spoils my bath.’ * I suppose your father's very fond of him,’ I said, by way of experiment. ‘ Yes, indeed !’ she exclaimed. ‘ But then he ought to De. Rover saved Tom’s life once.’

‘ How was that?’ I asked, deeply interested, in spite of the fact that Rover had not materialized, and I doubted if he ever would.

‘lt was up in the mountains three summersago. Tom was fishing from a little wharf. The first we knew, Rover dashed into the house with Tom’s hat, dropped it

at papa's feet and ran toward the door, looking back at 4>apa. We knew something had happened to Tom from the way Rover acted. We followed the dog down the slope and found Tom lying on the bank only jus [coming to. He told us he’d lost his ballance and fallen off the wharf—and that’s all he remembered. Papa said Rover must have seen Tom fall in and have dashed down from the piazza (where we knew he’d been lying), pulled Tom out, and, when he saw the boy didn’t move, have brought his hat up to the house to let us know something had happened. She looked suddenly away, as if listening. ‘ There’s mamma calling ! I suppose it’s the bathing hour—yes, mamma, I’m coming,’ and off she ran.

I strolled along the plank walk past my partner’s house. By the further side I saw a large dog-kennel, with a bed of clean straw, and a bright tin with water. The only thing missing to make the picture complete was the dog. That evening I went over to my partner’s for supper. As he and Marianne were not in, I sat on the piazza and watched for their coming. In a little while I saw them on the beach. The child was dancing along the edge of the surf, ahead of her father, laughing and shouting as she leaped over the little tongues of white that glided out from the frothy line. There was that captivating grace in every motion which I had noticed in the morning. She was simply fascinating—without the slightest effort on her part to be so. Her steps were so light, her gait so airy that she seemed like a bird skimming over the beach—or more, perhaps, like a fluff of foam ricochetting over the wet sand.

As her father turned toward the plank walk she joined him, but I observed that she did not walk close beside him, but left a space between him and herself as if for some one else who was with them.

That evening, as we were smoking our cigars after supper, my partner asked : ‘ Well, what do you think of her ?’ ‘ Fascinating. lam proud to be her godfather. I tell you, Smith, if we could strike the colour of her eyes in vegetable ivory or celluloid, we could run out a button that would simply take the market by storm.’ • I believe you dream about buttons,’ he said, none too enthusiastically. I thought, considering I had paid her such a great compliment. ‘ She has a wonderful imagination ’ he continued, giving me a significant look, which I returned, to show that I understood what he referred to. ‘Her last words to me at night are : “I’m sorry mamma isn’t well enough to hear me say my prayers. Be sure you don’t forget to hear Tom say his, papa. He’s lying awake for you.” And she never walks close beside me, but leaves a space between us—forTom.’ We never referred to the matter again—not even when he committed her into my hands. Between us it wasn’t necessary. He knew I understood her.

11. Curiously enough, I who had never had an unkind word with my partner, nor an unkind thought of him during his life, began, after his death, to feel a little jealous of him. It was Marianne who came between us. I expected her, of course, to always cherish her father’s memory. Had she not, I, who had loved him so much, would have been the first to resent this neglect. But, as I was to take the place of a father in bringing her up, I naturally thought I too should have a corner in her heart. Being very fond of her, I delighted in making presents to her, usually deferring in selecting these to the excellent judgment of an admirable nurse—a woman who already had been with Marianne when the latter was a mere infant, and who combined in a remarkable degree intelligence and devotion. As she thoroughly understood her charge, she was invaluable to me. One evening when Marianne was playing with a large doll which I had bought for her—one of those models of mechanical good behaviour, which unlike children, show off to order, closing or opening their eyes according to the position in which you lay them, and saying ‘ Papa ’ and ‘ Mamma ’ according to which string you pull, I asked her if she knew who had given it to her. expecting her of course, to give me one of her roguish glances, possibly following it up with a kiss. She simply looked and said : ‘ Papa.’ At first I thought she had pulled the ‘ Papa ’ string and that the doll had answered ; and I must own I was somewhat piqued to discover upon further questioning that the array of presents which I had taken so much pleasure in giving her was credited to her father. Still I consoled myself that Jim himself would pardon a touch of jealousy, which was caused entirely by my affection for his child. I could, however, note with satisfaction that as Marianne grew older her imagination ran less riot. My partner had not allowed her to play with other children, fearing that her peculiar trait would expose her to ridicule. I pursued the opposite policy. I sent her to school—having duly initiated her teachers and exacted promises from them that they would observe her carefully and check any tendency toward undue imaginative exuberance that might make her a laughing stock to her class ; and I encouraged her to mingle with others, though she always remained under her nurse’s eyes. In this way she gradually came to look more and more on things as her companions did. While she still worshipped her father’s memory,—and I would not have had it otherwise,—l could now give her presents without having dear old Jim get all the credit for them. Occasionally, however, her peculiar trait would crop out, and I must confess that as she was growing older, each succeeding manifestation made me more solicitous. What had been charming—l had almost said natural—in a child, awakened my apprehension when it showed itself—however rarely—in a grown-up girl. The following incident will serve to show why I should have been apprehensive. Soori after she was sixteen she spoke of being invited to the coming out reception of some schoolmate, with whom she was to receive. She had a handsome dress made for the occasion, and the matter wasatopicof conversation with her. Fortunately her old nurse—now her maid—heard one of Marianne’s friends express surprise that she should be able to carry out a joke so well, and learned by cautious questioning that it was all a freak of her fertile imagination.

It was sometimes only by the merest chance that we prevented others from discovering this strange trait ; but somehow we succeeded. Even her aunt, Mrs Malvinia Owen, knew nothing of it. Mrs Owen took a most kindly interest in her niece, visiting us occasionally in order to be with her from time to time. She was a prim, thin, somewhat sallow woman who sat up as straight as a ramrod, and kept her lips pressed tightly together as if she had a whole fusillade of commands ready to discharge at a regiment of children, But she never in any way interfered with my management of my charge. She really appeared to love Marianne. Nor do I see how she could have failed to do so. For Marianne grew up to fulfil the promise of her childhood. She had exquisite features and a slender figure buoyant with the airy grace which had captivated me when I first saw her dancing over the sand after an imaginary ball. Then,

too, she was so frankly affectionate with me, her love seeming to grow deeper from year to year, until she became so great a joy in my life that I could not seem to recall the time when my house had beeu without her.

Of course, as she grew older, I observed a slight change in the manner in which she showed her affection. As a child, she would romp up to me, spring on to my lap, throw her arms around my neck and simply cling to me. But when she budded into maidenhood, a natural and charming reserve showed itself. It was so charming because her modesty imposed it upon her in spite of her manifest desire to be just as impulsive in her love for me

as formerly. But she realised the difference between a godfather and a father. We werejustas warmly attached to each other as ever, and delighted I was to observe that she rather fretted for her old time childish lack of restraint.

One evening, as I glanced up from my paper, I saw she was looking at me. When she found I had discovered her she blushed —and I must own I never saw her look so pretty. I called her over to me and she sat down on a stool beside me, and looking up at me with her large, frank eyes, said ; ‘ I was just thinking how lovely it would be if I could just run up to you as I used to when I was only a little girl !* After that her nature seemed to change somewhat. She grew absorbed and dreamy ; ‘a young girl’s fancies,’ I thought to myself. But I was rather glad when in the spring she expressed a desire to spend the summer at one of the gayer resorts. A number of her friends were going there, and she thought she would enjoy being with them. It was a natural wish, and though it involved more expense than usual, I readily consented. This was just before I was about to leave on my spring trade trip. When I returned from the factory the evening before my departure on this trip, I found Mrs Owen sitting in the parlour with Marianne. Adelaide—that was the maid's name—had opened the front door and followed me into the room, remaining there as if waiting for orders. She often did this so as to observe Marianne when the late was with any visitor. Mrs Owen had never greeted me so warmly as she did this evening. ‘ Marianne wrote to me,’ she exclaimed, ‘how happy you intended to make her. It will be the climax of your kindness to her. ’

I was rather pleased to have her entertain so large a view of my summer arrangements for Marianne, for I did not object to having the latter duly impressed with them. I was glad for another reason that Aunt Malvinia had arrived ; for I thought Marianne might be diverged from her absorbed and somewhat morbid condition by preparations for the summer, in which Mrs Owen could aid her. So I said :

‘ I hope you will help her as much as you can.’ ‘ Yes, indeed. That was one reason I came on.’ ‘That was very good of you. Don’t hesitate at any reasonable expense—especially in the matter of dress.’ Then, as white was very becoming to Marianne, I added : ‘lf you want a white silk or satin go to . They're importers, and friends of mine. You can see a great variety there, and they’ll only charge you trade rates.’ I turned to give some directions to Adelaide, but found she had left the room. She had probably feared that Marianne’s plans for the summer were more imaginative than real, but what I had said had reassured her. 111. I was showing on my trip this spring, the largest and finest line of buttons that had ever been seen in the United States, everything from real shell to celluloid, and from horn to vegetable ivory ; and, as for.colours, they ranged from the iris of mother-of-pearl to white. When I opened out my sample-book on the table you’d have thought I was laying out a yard of rainbow. I tell you there's art in showing samples. I’ve sold right over the heads of some fellows—bright ones, too — who showed nearly as good stuff as I did, only they didn’t show them so well. Harmony and contrast are as important in buttons as in a Messenger—or whatever that French painter’s name is. Still, my success on this trip was a surprise even to myself. It began after I’d been on the road a little over a week, and strangest of all it began with old Isidor Cohnfeld, who always ‘flew light.’ Isidor was a Jew, and he never made any attempt to disguise that fact. ‘ Mr Chones,’ he said to me once, ‘ I likes to p’y from you, because you’re a Grisdian. I likes to p’y from Grisdians and I likes to sell to Grisdians—for den I makes money at both ends.’ Nevertheless, I always left him wishing he'd ‘ p’y ’ more, for, as before stated, he ‘ flew light.’ Five gross was the most he’d ever go, so imagine my surprise when on this trip he slapped me on the shoulder and said: 'Mr Chones, I dakes ten gross.’ Then he added, with a wink, ‘ Choost to help you shtard house-keebing.’ I didn’t have the slightest idea what he meant ; but when a man who buys ten gross winks when he says something, I know that he thinks he’s cracked a joke, so, like a good business man, I laugh whether I understand it or not. And so I laughed at old Isidor Cohnfeld’s occult utterances.

But Isidor seemed to have simply started the ball rolling. Wherever I called, sales were much larger than I had expected. Was I a genius without knowing it ? No I was not a genius. For, somehow, I didn’t seem to catch on to the jokes that my customers cracked amid many winks, any more than I had caught on to Isidor’s. For instance, one man would say, after buying an unusually large bill of goods : ‘ How’s that, bridegroom ?’ Another would exclaim, after giving me a significant smile : ‘ Now, tell us something about the bride elect ?’ I would answer with my business-like cackle: ‘ The loveliest creature you ever set eyes on,’ and he would roar and declare I was as spoony as if I was only just of age. Of course, I didn’t understand what he was driving at, but for all he could tell I was right in with him.

I got around to Philadelphia on the 25th of May, and glad I was to be only two hours from New York, for, while pretty well set up with my success with my buttons, I was sort of puzzled. There was no possible explanation for all the quizzing I had been made the object of, except that a preconcerted arrangement to run me had been made by all the customers I had sold goods to during my last two weeks on the road. But this was, obviously, impossible. Philadelphia was a pleasant place for me to wind up with. One large house had the exc'usive agency for our goods there ; so my business required me to make but one call and one sale. It was a large account, and the partners were good fellows I usually reached Philadelphia in the in rning, had my bill of goods sold by noon, lunched with the firm at the Merchants’ Club, and took

the 2 p.m. flyer for New York. I had planned to do the same this trip. The first person I encountered when I entered our agents’ store was the head salesman. He looked at me as much as to say : ‘ Well, where the devil did you come from ?’ But he didn’t express his thoughts verbally. He was only a subordinate. He told me I’d find the partners in the private offices. ‘ Aha,’ I thought to myself, * this thing has reached here, has it ? Well, so long as it leads to good sales I can stand a little more guying.’ And so I entered the senior partner’s room. Well, if he’d seen a ghost he couldn’t have been more startled. He simply wheeled about in his chair and stared at me.

‘ John Jones !’ he exclaimed at last, * Is it you or your spirit ?’ I felt my arms, I passed one hand down my chest, I pinched my legs to make sure that I really was myself, for I was beginning to have doubts on the subject, before 1 answered :

‘ Yes. I’m John Jones himself.’ •Ned!’ he called to his partner, ‘come in here.’ In came Ned, and a more amazed man you never saw. ‘JohnJones!’ he cried. * You here only five hours before you’re to be married, and two hours by the fastest train from the city you’re to be married in, and all the chances of a mishap besides !’ ‘ See, here,’ I said and I suppose I spoke a bit savagely, and looked downright angry, ‘ I’m getting tired of this nonsense. No doubt this is the very place it started from. Now, what’s all this talk about a wedding I’ve had to endure ever since I started east from Peoria ?’ ‘A natural wonder!’ exclaimed Ned. ‘A bluff—a human bluff. Why, John Jones, you’ve missed your vocation. You’re great on buttons, but you should have been an actor. Now, I suppose you will deny that this is an invitation to your wedding ?’ and he held up an envelop. I have always been proud of what I did at this moment. Something in the air of these men told me that they were not guying me, but thought I was joking them. So, resuming my natural manner, I said with a laugh : • I haven’t seen the invitations. They were sent out after I left New York. I’ve no doubt one was mailed to me, but I changed my route a little, and it’s probably gone back to New York. Let me see yours, Ned.’ Ned handed it to me, and opening it I read : Mrs Malvinia Owen requests the honour of your company at the marriage of her niece, Marianne Smith, to Mr John Jones, at St. Joseph's P. E. Church, Wednesday afternoon, May 25th, 1893, at five o'clock. 1 suppose a brilliant man would have had a nervous collapse at this unexpected discovery that he was within five hours to enter the bonds of matrimony, or else he would’have cried fraud, and exposed the girl mentioned in the invitation to ridicule. I, being only a mediocre —an average—man, maintained as composed an appearance as if I were standing on the floor of my factory glancing at a shipping order. I read over the invitation

a second time to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. I understood it all. It was the work of Marianne's imagination. Now, the meaning of Mrs Owen’s coming to New York, her warm words of thanks, which had struck me as rather exaggerated at the time, and her eagerness to assist Marianne became clear to me. Marianne had written to her that she was to be married to me, the kind soul had come on to help with the arrangements, and, curiously enough, our conversation had tallied with all that Marianne had written.

‘ Well,’ I remarked, ‘ all I can say is that my auntthat is to be has done this up in pretty good style—she seems to keep up with the procession. And now that I’ve received my invitation I think I shall honour the occasion with my presence. ’ ‘ But to think,’ exclaimed Ned, and there was a ring of admiration in his voice, 1 that you’re here on your wedding day to sell us a bill of goods. John Jones, you’re business through and through. You’re a corker !’ Did I sell them a bill of goods ? Well, I should say so —large enough to run the factory on for two months ; and they set up a lunch at the Merchants’ Club that surpassed all their previous efforts in that line. Two o’clock found me comfortably seated in a parlour car on the ‘ Flyer.’ Notwithstanding my calm exterior a good deal was passing through my mind ; nothing, however, to make me change it. I am accustomed through my business habits to think and act quickly ; and when I read through the invitation to my own marriage, to take place only five hours later and in another city, I decided that for Marianne’s sake it must take place. From the fact that my customers had received invitations, I judged that these had been sent to my whole list of acquaintances, and there were the Smith-Owen friends and connections besides. Imagine the gossip or worse that Marianne would be exposed to if I failed to appear. What was my predicament—that of a bachelor of forty-nine, who never having given the subject of marriage a thought, is suddenly confronted with an invitation to his own wedding—compared with what Marianne’s would be if the wedding did not take place as announced ? In my average way I argued that I was a man and that it was my duty to protect a woman. Then, there was the question of loyalty to my dead friend ; and she was my goddaughter. In fact, I felt as if I could congratulate myself that my duty was so clear that it admitted of no doubt.

But as I lay back in my seat other thoughts passed through my mind. I had never seriously considered the idea of Marianne’s marrying. But suddenly the thought occurred to me : ‘ What if she had proposed to marry some one else ?’ I felt myself growing alternately hot and cold, and suddenly aspired to punch somebody on the head—that somebody being no other person than the fellow she might have married. For the first time in my life I found myself losing my composure, and did not regain it' again till I hauled the invitation I had taken from Ned out of my pocket and assured myself by reading it that I was really the lucky chap. This was all so strange that I retired to the smoking compartment, lit a Merchants’ Club cigar, and watched the blue wreaths float lightly upward. When I felt like punching that imaginary other fellow’s head I knew I had made a discovery, and I was now enjoying my reward as a discoverer. Lucky dog ! I had loved a woman without

knowing it, and I had won her without even having undergone the nervous strain ot a possible refusal. I did not worry over the chance of my not arriving at the church at the hour set for the happy event—so happy for me now that I saw everything so clearly—for I could drive directly to St. Joseph’s from the ferry. It was only necessary for me to send the porter forward for my valise, engage a compartment, and assume the funeral raiment which society has decreed shall be the outward and visible manifestation of the bridegroom’s inward and invisible feelings—and I was ready for the ceremony. I should perhaps remark that I had taken the precaution to order a best man and ushers by telegraph, and that at Trenton their replies saying all would be O.K. were delivered to me aboard the train.

I did chafe, however, at a long delay on the Jersey meadows—they never seemed so dreary—caused by a hot box, a delay which brought us into New York twenty-five minutes behind time, leaving me only thirtyfive in which to reach the church. But I promised the cabby an extra if he got me there in time, and away we rattled.

I judged from the carriages at the main entrance of the church, as we drove up to the vestry door, that the bride was just arriving ; and when my best man saw me enter the vestry-room his feeling of relief was visibly depicted on his countenance.

‘By Jove!’ he exclaimed. ‘What chances you do take !’

I pulled out my watch and held it up for him to see that it was five o’clock to the minute. Indeed, some moments elapsed before the organist struck up the bridal chorus from Lohengrin. There was a very audible rustle in the congregation, and a moment later I was looking down the aisle awaiting my bride. When she appeared at the lower end of the aisle she was a vision of loveliness. Her eyes fixed upon the ground, she walked slowly toward me. I regarded her so closely that I saw what perhaps no other did — a half startled, half frightened look as she slightly lifted her head and saw the wall of faces which lined the aisle. But—and by this time she had advanced to just beyond the front pews—when she raised her eyes and they met mine, a look of relief, as if a great doubt had been removed from from her soul, came into them, and then an expression of ineffable bliss which I shall never forget spread over her features, and she grasped my hand as if she wanted to assure herself beyond all peradventure that it was not a vision, but myself in flesh and blood who had met her at the altar.

And that is the way an average man like myself became the husband of the loveliest of women. I would have nothing more to add were it not that I desire to state that since our marriage Marianne’s imagination has not manifested any extraordinary activity. That momemt when she looked up while on her way tp the altar she must have realised that she had been proceeding entirely upon imaginative lines, and have experienced a great shock which might have prostrated her entirely had she had time to speculate on the probable outcome before she raised her eyes and saw me waiting for her.

Here at last was something imaginary in its premises which had a real conclusion. There I stood in my average, solid way. There was nothing imaginary about me. One of her hallucinations had materialized, and that seems to have put an end to them all. Besides, the care of children is a wonderful check to the imagination.