The Sage Cinderella and the Precipitate Prince.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 24, 15 December 1909, Page 49

The Sage Cinderella and the Precipitate Prince.

By

Gertrude Pahlow.

ELANCEY strayed through the X station with a roving eye and ,1 1 a mind alert for adventure. K S His vagabond mood was upon him; he longed for new sights and experience; the thought of business, of responsibility, of decent deferance to convention, revolted him. The restraining influence of his maiden aunt having been stowed away on board the Western express, he was in a dangerous situation. To the expert imagination, the myriad shining lines that stretch out from a rail-

way station offer as alluring suggestions as" the crowding funnels of a busy harbour; there is a possible adventure at the end of each beckoning track. And spring was in the air. Truly it was a moment of peril for Delancey.

However he made a show of resistance. “I will only walk, by way of constitutional, once to the end of the station and once back again,” he said to himself, “and if nothing happens in that time I will go forth and bind my nose firmly to the grindstone I won’t look to the right nor to the left, and I won't take up with any makeshift adventure. It is my earnest determination and my—my passionate desire to stick to the path of duty.” Once he made his slow promenade, and absolutely nothing oceurrred. He turned to retrace his steps; a man jostled him and stopped to apologize; a fat old lady dopped a bag of apples at his feet and he gathered them up and tied them securely in his silk neckerchief and returned them to her; and then he was almost at the end of the station once more. His heart sank. The path of duty seemed the only one open to him. He walked more and more slowly; his hope oozed dismally out through the sales of his shoes; the desk in his office drew nearer and more odiously near, And then —just at the psychological moment —- something happened. A girl flashed past him, running at her swiftest speed for a train which was evidently on the point of departing without her. But as she reached the gate some unseen obstacle caught her foot; she tripped, retrieved herself, and hesitated a second; then the conductor called out warningly, and she ran on. Delancey, glancing at the place where she had stumbled, started with delighted surprise. In front of the gate a board, brought for use in repairing the floor, obtruded itself; and beside it, lying directly in his path, was a neat brown shoe. The girl was already on the train. The gate had closed. There was but a moment to decide. However it did not take that long; Delancey reached the spot at a bound, seized the shoe, slipped through the gate of the next track, and swung himself onto the steps of the last car just as the train was pulling out of the station. It must be said for Delancey that he knew an adventure when he saw one. Radiant of face and thankful of heart, he entered the car and sat down to the contemplation of his find. He had caught the obscrvation-car; thus early in the journey it was untenanted, and

he was free to sniff the pleasant savor of the situation at will. The shoe was a very natty, jaunty affair of the “pump” variety, made of a peculiarly dark and expensive-looking leather, and graced with a buckle of burnished brown enamel in the centre of a flat brown bow- learly the shoe of a woman of discernment, if not charm. In his large, masculine hand it seemed a diminutive thing, though the number five was plain ly visible within it; an I he observed with pl a-; ire that its whole effect wa -

agreeably worldly “and unhygienic. “I admire the principle of these good-sense canal boats,” he said to himself, “but I’ll be jiggered if they stimulate the spirit of romance.”

From the shoe to its wearer was but a step—though the poor damsel had probably thought it a long one as she ran stockingfooted to the train. Delancey searched his memory for a picture of her, but he could recall nothing except a hazy impression that she wore blue. However, the shoe sp ke for itself. She must be young, she must be a thoroughbred, she must be of a cultivated and discriminating taste; and it was ten chances to one she was pretty, too. As Delancey sat contemplating her charming foot-gear a brilliant inspiration Hashed into his mind. “I will marry her,” he said. “This is a clear beam from my guiding star. I will go through the world, like Cinderella’s prince, hunting for the lady who fits this shoe; and when I find her I will secure the privilege of putting on her shoes for life.” Delancey was a man of action. He rose at once and pocketed the shop; and the conductor happening opportunely by, he secured the rights of a passenger on board the fateful train. But just as he was setting out upon his search a new thought stayed him. and he sat down again. “I am not going to marry her foot!*’ he told himself severely’. “I must hive a mental shoe to try on her mind. I*ll propound a test-phrase, ami she must answer it. Let mo see. ‘Who can toll where the shoo pinches?’ No, no. that’s ungallant. ‘Whom the shoe fits, let him put it on’ —that sounds Scriptural an 1 unsuitable. ‘Shoo the old horse, an I shoe the— ’ Good heavens, worse and worse! ‘What’s shoes for the goose i shoes for the— ’ Look here. I’m getting maudlin. Quotations don't seem to he my strong point.” He buried his face in his hauls for a moment, flunking dooplv. Then suddenly he straightened up, alight with satisfaction “What hoots it?” ho exclaimed. “That’s the very thing—noetic, philosophical, impersonal! ‘What Loots it?’ Why. the phrase has the dignity’ of a chaperon. It was coined by the gods for the express purpose of picking out a wife for a man” Fla ted .and eager, he sprang to his feet and hurried forth. Tt took him but a moment to 1«»avo the observationcar, push through the emptv dining-car, and enter the rear Pullman. But hero, smitten by a sudden misgiving, he paus-

ed. He hau not realised the magnitude of his undertaking. The Pullman was full; to his bewildered gaze nearly all its occupants seemed to be girls, and appeared to be clothed in blue. It was a proposition to make Che stoutest falter. Moreover, a conventional, unimaginative air brooded over the place; it seemed an assembly ill prepared to don pumps at the hands of strange princes, or to answer the question ‘ W hat boots it?" out of a clear sky. However, Delancey was not so easily cowed. Tic went at once to the forward end of the car and turned for a rigorous inspection. From this point of vintage many who had seemed eligible from the rear no longer appeared sc. Some were cross-eyed; some were monthe 1: some had their feet crossed in front of them, and both their shoes <x Wh n his eyes had finished their tour of elimination, there were only’ two left w’o might possibly answer all the re-

quirements. Of these one shifted her position as he started towards her, and showed a pair of neat patent-leather oxfords. Delaneey’s heart lightened, and he strode boldly down the aisle.

The other eligibility was a very trim, very pretty, very aloof young person who sat on the sofa at the extreme rear of the car. She wore a neat blue broadcloth suit of a conservative cut, a small, discreet blue hat set exactly upon the middle of her head, and heavy tan gloves. Her feet were put so directly and exactly in front of her that not even a suspicion of their existence could be gained from the most careful survey. She was very young and very well bred; and from her eamp the subtle but unmistakable emanation of Boston.

Delancey had a moment of foreboding as he approached her. “However,” he thought, “when the ice is broken the water is often warmer than you expect.” So he went at once t. her side, and, bowing formally, accosted bur. “1 eaught the train just as it was starting,” he said, “and have not yet had an opportunity to secure a chair. W ill it in onvenimiee you it I sit down temporarily on this sofa?’’ “Not at all,” si«d the young lady irreproachably; and she receded into the farthest corner of the seat. Del i in ey sat down. There seemed for the moment nothing 'more to say, and he felt dis concerted by the fact. Was this the way for a lady to welcome a possible husband? He was full to the brim with conversation: but a conversation, like a quarrel. takes two to make. His pt - . ; i t .u stion, in-

■ft net with sigfftWcance. tremble# ffn bis lips: but he was powerless to utter it. How could he, without preface, brutally demand ‘‘What boots it?'* of a young lady who was apparently unaware of his existence? He stared frowningly at the back of the chair in front of him, waiting for something to happen. The young lady from Boston gazed out of the window.

This painful suspense lasted for some five minutes—absolutely the limit of Delancey’s patience. Then lie determined to stake all on a bold throw. She was clearly not going to offer him any assistance; but once . mention the fateful word, ami she was certain to give some sign—a start, a blush, a conscious look. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. It was obvious that she did

hot know that such a person as he had ever been born. He. put out his foot Stealthily and kicked over her suit-ease. The young lady jumped, but in a very quiet, Bostonian way. At the same time she drew her feet a little more closely beneath her.

“I beg your pardon!” said Delaneey earnestly. "It was very awkward of me. 1 fear you will find it inexcusable.” "Oh, no.” said the young lady coldly. “It was the fault of my shoes,” said Delaneey with emphasis. "They are so heavy that I can hardly control them. They slip out and do things when I least expect it. Shoes are capable of giving a great deal of trouble.” “1 dare say,” said the young lady icily. Delaneey sighed. She was making it very difficult for him. He lacked courage to pursue the subject along these lines; she seemed incredibly unappreciative < f his efforts. So he relapsed again into silence, and east about for some other handle to the dilemma. The paper-and-magazine boy came down the aisle, his arms loaded with his wares, his mouth filled to overflowing with his slogan: "Papies! Papies! All the newest magazines—Carper’s, Scribbler’s, the Pedantic, just out to-day! All the illustarted weeklies!” Some one stopped him. He tried to extract a newspaper from the mound in his arms and continue his vociferations at the •ame time. The undertaking proved too great, the whole structure trembled, toppled, and fell; and with a "Gee!” that, came from an anguished heart the boy beheld his lofty burden scatter over the floor.

“ Dear me ! " said Delaney, ready to bang his conversation on any possible peg. "That boy is like the old woman who lived in a shoe—he has so many papers he doesn’t know what to do.” No answer, except a more complete view of the neat blue shoulder. Deleneey felt depressed. Still it seemed neees.-arv to persevere; if he did not probe this matter to the bottom his search would be at a standstill. So he continued pleasantly: “ And yet, with al! his papers, probably he never reads. They say. you know. that the shoe-maker’s children never have shoes. How annoying for them to have to go stocking-footed!” Still no answer. Delaneey feit discouraged, but it was too late now to abandon the undertaking. Nerving himself, and taking a long breath, he plunged on recklessly.

“ However,” he said, “ the best of shoes wear out; and when their day is done, lie who has none is as well off a.s he who formerly had a pair. So what boots it?”

The young lady turned suddenly in her seat and faced him, and for the first time she delivered herself of a fullsized sentence. “It strikes me,” she said with chill emphasis, “that this is a singularly bootless conversation,” and as she spoke she crossed her feet firmly and decidedly, and it was seen that she wore high buttoned boots of box calf.

Delaneey jumped to his feet, suppressing a sigh of relief. “It seems .so to you," he said courteously, “ far be it from me to prolong it. Permit me to thank you for the use of this sofa and to wish you a very good day.” So say-

ing, he bowed in a courtly fashion and walked briskly away. “Well," he said to himself, “that’s something accomplished in the cause of truth! lam tremendously relieved that it wasn’t that one. I should have had to build a fire under her footstool to keep her shoes from freezing up. Yet she. is a credit to her bringing up. It might be a real pleasure to put on her shoes if she had been personally introduced to the shoe-horn.” By this time he had crossed the vestibule into the next car, and stood surveying his new field of activity. The dazed mist had faded from his eyes, and he saw this assembly exactly as it was —- half men and nearly all the other half respectable presidents of women’s clubs. One or two elderly damsels cast interested glances at him, but he looked kindly and pityingly at their stubby shoes and passed them by. There was only one real possibility in the car. This was a plump, fair young person in an exquisite blue voile gown, with long ecru gloves and an ecru lace hat tilted sportively to one side. Her feet were on a cushion, and her long skirt covered them entirely. Delaneey sauntered slowly along the car, struggling to form a plan of action. However, no effort on his side was necessary. While he was still some distance off, the girl raised a pair of eyes, as blue as her gown and glanced at him; then, dropping them, she turned in her seat and rang for the porter. The porter was at the farther end of the long coach, and Delaneey was close at hand. It was so simple that it was almost pathetic. He stopped at her side, bowed deferentially, and inquired, “Could I serve vou in any way?"

“ Oh, would you?” said she, looking at him pleadingly. “ I want my bag for a moment, and it’s too heavy for me to lift.”

“ Permit me!” said Delaneey, and in a twinkling he set the bag—a handsome affair of thick, crusty alligator—at her side.

“Thank you so much!” said the girl. Then, fixing tier blue eyes on his and hesitating demurely, she added, “ It’s a shame to trouble you any more, but would you mind stopping, as you go down the car, and telling the porter to come and put it back? It’s so heavy!” “ If you will allow me,” said Delaneey, promptly, “ I will stay here until you have finished with it, and put it back myself.”

“Oh, how good of you!” she said. “ Won’t you sit down? I am afraid

I must keep you waiting a few minutes, and it’s too bad to make you stand.”

Delaneey needed no urging. The car was a sleeper, and the young lady in blue had apparently engaged the whole section, so that the seat opposite her was vacant. The two high backs enclosed them at once in an almost domestic privacy.

“ I’m so grateful to you for this kindness!” said the young lady, taking a bottle of smelling salts out of the bag, and then putting it back again. “ It’s dreadful travelling alone. I had an awfully uncomfortable trip East.” “Did you have to come a long way alone?” inquired Delaneey. The lady’s extreme accessibility relieved him of the necessity of plunging headlong into his subject. “Oh, no!” she said. “Only from Colorado. Dad brought me there.” Delaneey started; he had the Easterner’s superstitious reverence for long distances. “I should have though that far enough,” he said. “ Where do you come from?” “ From Puget Sound. Once I came the whole way in four days,” she remarked. “That’s going some, isn’t it?” “ I should say it was,” said Delaneey, awe struck. “Do you come East often?” “ Not very often,” she said. “Only about twice a year, to do my shopping. Last year I came in four times, but that was because the styles in shoes changed so fast.”

Delaneey jumped in his seat. She was actually throwing his opportunity into his face! He leaned forward and fixed her with his earnest gaze. “ Are you interested in shoes?" he asked.

“Oh, awfully!” she said. “I think they’re the most important article of one’s dress. I’m taking fourteen new pairs back with me now.” “ A little while ago,” said Delaneey impressively, “ I happened to see a remarkably pretty shoe. It was cut sort of—sort of decollete, you know—and it slanted in at the back, something like a donkey’s hoof—and it has sort of—of—trimmings—buckles and bows and things —on the front. The buckle was brown, about the colour of a hore-hound cough drop.” He looked at her anxiously, to see what effect his description might have.

She seemed extraordinarily unmoved. “ Oh, yes,” she said, “ that was a pump -—one of Schumacher’s styles, I should think. That kind with the enamel buckle costs seven dollars. I don’t like them,” she added indifferently. Delaneey was nonplussed. “ Don’t you really ?” he asked. “ Don’t you ever wear them?”

“ Why, yes, I mave a pair,” she said. “ But they make your feet look large.” Delaneey moved forward to the very edge of the seat, and searched her face, He was pale with nervousness. “ If a man should come to you questingly,” he said, “ with a shoe like that in his hand, and say: ‘Will you try this on? What boots it if it does make your foot look large?’ what would you answer?” The girl laughed merrily, showing small, flashing teeth. “ I’d answer, ‘Shoo!’ said she. “And speaking of shoes, one of mine's untied. Would you mind?” She lifted her skirt and thrust

forth a small trinket of fawncoloured ooze-leather, like her gloves, with * loose blue ribbon like her gown. Delaneey performed his office solemnly, and in silence. Then he rose and bowed ceremoniously. “ It’s very pretty,” he said, “ but I fear it is too florid —too rococo—to meet the demands of everyday life. And now, if you will pardon me, I’ll leave you. I must see somebody in the next car.” And with that he departed. “By George!” he reflected, as be walked hastily down the car, “ that was a close shave! I must say I’m not disappointed. It’s all very well putting shoes on the right person; but tliat’s the kind of lady they fall off of too often!” He shook his head thoughtfully, and sighed the sigh of a philosopher; and lie was in the next car before he remembered that he never put the bag back at all. It was with a feeling bordering on dejection that he surveyed his new scene of action. This quest for a number-five-shod princess was developing into an arduous and exhausting matter. “Only the third car,” he thought sadly, “and already I’ve tackled an iceberg and got frost-bitten, encountered a simoon and just escaped heat-prostration. What will happen before I reach the engine? If I could absolve myself so easily, I’d eat the shoe with a glad heart. But I have put my hand to the shoe-'horn; I cannot! turn back.” Sighing, he prepared to go forward and resume the quest.

But at this critical moment a diversion presented itself. Near the farther end of the car, beyond several eligible blue passengers, sat a girl in brown. Her hair was of the same rich bronze as her rough silk gown: her hat, her gloves, her eyes, all matched exactly. Delaneey’s weary gaze dwelt gatefully for a second on her satisfying brownness; then he gave a start of delighted recognition and hurried to her side.

“Good morning, Barbara Lee!" he said gleefully. The girl jumped. “Donald Delaneey!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here ?”

“Taiiking with you, like a lueky fellow,” said Delaneey. “May I sit down? I’m awfully tired—just worn out.” “Certainly,” said Miss Lee; and she set aside her eoat, her bag, her umbrella.

and her books with one capable movement, and offered him the opposite seat. “What have you done to get so tired?” “Oh, I’m questing,” said Delaneey, with a sigh. “But I assure you, Barbara Lee, it gets more exhausting every time. Sometimes I think my next quest will be the inquest.” “I should think it might,” said Miss Lee. decidedly. “The last time, when you were questing for a blooded Arabian charger that should cleave to you till death, you got bitten in the shoulder three times and kicked in the ribs twice; and you’ve hardly got over the quest before that, when you were looking for the poisoned dagger of Lucrezia Borgia, and stuck it in your finger to see if it was genuine. What in the name of common sense are you questing for now?” “For an eligible princess,” said Delaftcey with another sigh. “But if I’d hail a notion of what an odious job .it was, I’4 have stopped before I began. I say, Bar-

tiara Lee— if youl! please excuse me—how perfectly ripping you look in all that brown! You always wear brown, don’t you?”

“Of course,” said Miss Lee. “I wear »t because it’s my colour. Any girl who doesn't wear her colour is a simpleton.”

“You've so devcr,” said Delancey admiringly. “If I were a woman I couldn’t tell my colour to save ray life, not even if I worked in a dye-house. You always know everything. I think that’s the prettiest colour I ever saw.” “It a pity,” said Miss Lee, smiling at him graciously, “that your sense isn’t aa good as your taste. You don’t seem to have much sense, Don, and that’s a tfact.” “I know it,” said Delancey sadly. “The good Lord left it out of me when he mixed me. Now you, Barbara, you’re just a Bolid hunk of sense. I wish you’d lend me some.”

“I’d like to,” said Miss Lee with vigour “I’d like to take you in hand and stop your foolishness. Why don’t you do something worth while?” “X would if I could,” said Delancey, “but I don’t know what to do. It’s frightfully stupid at the office; Jameeon and all those fellows know lots better how to look after my money than I do; and so I go on quests to keep from being driven to drink. I’m so bored that it seems like to-morrow before I’ve got through dressing for to-day.” “I could find you so much to do,” Baid the energetic Miss Lee, “that it would seem like morning when it

time to stop at night.” “Oh, do it!” said Delancey eagerly. “Begin now! And yet,” he added, his face falling, “there’s my quest. It’s abhorrent to my very soul, but I'm under a vow. Besides, she’ll be wanting her shoe.” “Iler shoe!” said Miss Lee. Her face changed suddenly, she flushed deeply and gave her skirt a violent downward pull.

“Yes. I found it, you see, and it’s up to me to put it on her and marry her. But somehow all of a sudden, I loathe the prospect. .She will probably turn out to be an unspeakable lackadaisical idioot, with no more sense than I have.” “You don’t mean to tell me, Don (Quixote Delancey,” said Miss Lee, “that you actually made a vow to marry a woman, a total stranger to you, if a shoe that you found accidently in a public place should happen to fit her?” “Oh, no, that isn’t all,” said Delancey hastily. “I have another test, a mental shoe. ’ I ask every woman I meet, ‘What boots it?’ and she must answer it right if she is the right one. It’s a very rigorous test, for that question is almost impossible to answer. None of them ever answered it right either,” lie (added gloomily. “There isn’t a woman in the •world with sense enough, except you.”

“You certainly need a woman with dense,” said Miss Lee emphatically. “Imagine it! On the strength of a slice!” “Oh, but such a pretty shoe!” said Delancey. “It’s the. most beautiful shade of brown you ever saw, about the colour of—why, it’s about the colour of your dress! Why—why, Barbara Lee, that shoe looks exactly like you! That must have been why I fell in love with it. It’s simply the image of you. What if—Barbara!”

Miss Lee crimsoned violently and tucked her feet carefully underneath her. ‘‘This is a very foolish conversation,” she said decidedly. “Where are you travelling to?” “I don’t know!” said Delancey. “But bara, is it ” “You don't know!’’ interrupted Miss Lee. “Where did you buy your ticket to?” “Nowhere. The conductor said something about it, but I was thinking about my shoe, so I gave him some money and told him not to bother me. Barbara, tell me, is it ” ‘'Well, of all ridiculous things?” she •interrupted again. “You didn’t know, then, that you were on the way to Chicago?” “To where?” lie exclaimed, startled. <f You don’t toll me this is the Chicago Di ini led? Well, well* So I’m on the same La ri n wit h A.i in t Mi ra nda! Th at’ curious But, Barbara, tell me ” “I won’t tell you anything—yet,” said Miss Lee, averting her eyes. “Go away and find your aunt. I want to be alone a little while.” Delancey rose obediently. “I’ll go,* he said, ‘‘but I’ll be back in five minutes. Then we will get to the botton of this thing.” He move away reluctantly, glancing back over his shoulder. ’/i the next ear he found bis aunt.

a. neat, trim, prim little lady in a gray gown and a spinsterly gray toque. “How do you do, Aunt Miranda?” he inquired politely. Tlie lady started. “My dear nephew!” she said. “What in the world brings you here? I thought you were in New York.” “I took the train at the last minute,” said Delancey, “on account of important business.”

“Business?” said his aunt. “That’s something new for you. What was your business connected with?”

“Shoes,” said he. Then, raising his whimiscal eyebrows, he asked her earnestly, “Did you ever lose a shoe, Aunt Miranda?” To his astonishment the lady flushed and leaned forward excitedly. “Indeed I did,” she said. “I’ve just lost one, a perfect beauty; and now’ the pair is spoiled. A pair of Schumacher's sevendollar pumps, too!” Delancey gasped. “Then—then—whose is it?” he stammered.

His aunt hurried on with her tale, unheeding. “Yesterday,” she said, “I went to the shop to have them polished, because I wanted to wear them to day; and while I was there Barbara Lee came in, and she had a pair of the same kind on, and she wanted hers polished, too. They are made of a specially prepared leather, and the attendant takes them into a back room to do them, because they use a peculiar dressing that smells very disagreeably. He brought them, back at the same time, but Barbara was in a hurry to keep an appointment, and so I told him to put hers on first. And after after she was gone, I found she bad one of mine. It must be very loose for her, because hers pinches me dreadfully.” Delancey gazed at her with a clouded brow. “Then it’s yours,” he said. “I see I must ask you the question, ‘What boots it ?’ ”

“I don’t understand you, Donald,” said the good lady, a little ruffled. “I am telling you that I have had a misfortune. “I don't see that your ‘What boots it?’ has anything to do w'ith the situation.” Delancey brightened suddenly. “You’re rigth. Aunt Miranda,” he said. “It hasn’t, not a thing. Don’t worry. What is your loss is somebody’s gain; and the gods may give you your shoe baek again, when they have finished brewing their magic potions in it. Now I must leave you and attend to my own shoe business.”

“But what is the answer,” demanded his aunt, “to your very strange question, ‘ What boots it ?’ ”

“I don’t know myself, dear aunt.” said he. “But I hope to find out.” So he departed. He made short work of the journey back to Miss Lee’s ear. Here he found that lady—still, as ever, mistress of herself and of the occasion—gazing out of the window, flushed and brighteyed. He stopped beside her. “Oh, Barbara Lee,” he said, “the quest is ended. It was Aunt Miranda’s shoe But after all, what boots it?”

“Nothing at all,” said she promptly, and put out her foot foir the shoe. “Why,” said Delancey, “that’s the right answer. Just nothing at al.” Ils smiled contentedly as he slipped the brown shoe into place.