The Storyteller.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XXVI, Issue 32, 15 December 1898, Page 23

The Storyteller.

THE RIGHT MAN.

' I brad one of your stories last evening Miss Deland,' Jameson Baid. Gates looked up quickly. 'Do you write V he asked. ' What is the story in, please V ' I don't know. Where did you see it, Mr. Jameson V ' In the last Pacific Monthly' ' Oh, that one 1' said Miss Deland. ' I didn't know it was out yet.' ' 'Tis a good enough s'ory of its kind,' said Jameson, bluntly, 1 but I haven't much opinion of the kind. What I want to see you write is a love story.' ' I dare say it would amuse you immensely.' ' But why have you never tried it V persisted Jameson. ' I will tell you. It is because I have never been able to imagine a man's making love, or proposing, in a way that would not disgust. or antagonize, or forfeit the respect of any woman with a grain ot sense.' Gates laughed. ' That's pretty severe,' said Jameson. 'It hits me and my wife both.' ' I'm very sorry, but I can't take it back. I haven't a doubt that you inspired one or all of the sentiments I have indicated. Mrs. Jameson must have overco-ne them by a tremendous effort of the will. Many sensible women do.' ' And if the right' man came along you would overcome them also, Miss Deland.' ' Never ! As soon as he began to show signs of softening of the brain he would cease to be the right man — for me.' 1 Perhaps, and perhaps not. We shall Bee.' ' And in the meantime, my dear Mr. Jameson, will you be so kind as to go away. Otherwise I shall never get to the end of this pile of manuscript, even with Mr. Gates to help me.' ' There's nothing would pleasure me more,' retorted Jameson, goodnaturedly, and took himself off to his own desk. At intervals during the afternoon and on the way home at night Gates mused over what Miss Deland had said about love-mak-ing, and imagined different ways of doing it. ' I believe she is more than half right,' he concluded, as he went up-stairs to his room after supper. He had bought a copy of the Pacific Monthly, that he might see her story, and when he had read it he laid aside the magazine and fell to thinking of the writer. 'Perhaps I have not been quite just to her,' he soliloquised. ' This little story shows that there is more to her than I thought. There's a tender human interest in it, and a hint of deep religious feeling. I wish she would try to be a little more feminine. Somehow it irritates me, her independent manner, the severely plain way in which she dresses, in spite of the fact that she always looks neat, and that way of speaking that comes so near being pert. It isn't exactly masculine, but neither is it feminine. I don't like her, and yet there is something about her that attracts me.' It was two or three weeks after this, in the latter part of February, that Gates forgot to speak to Miss Deland about some small but unimportant detail that had to do with her work the next day. He was not to be at the office in the morning, so could not repair the oramission then. At first he thought of sending her a note, then decided to call around and tell her. He had never before been inside the large apartment-house in which she lived on one of the upper flat 3. ' Come up,' she called through the speaking-tube, when he had given his name. So Gates went up. He gave a peroetible start when he had been shown into the pleasantest of sicting-rooms and confronted Miss Deland. She seemed a different person, in a dress of soft gray ornamented by ribbon bows, a film of white lace about the neck, with a pink flower or two at the throat, and the hair done in a way that did not do violence to a natural waviness. She saw his look of surprise, and laughed. ' Perhaps I ought to be introduced,' she said. 'At the Wialtly Recorder office I am Miss Deland, reader of manuscripts — a mere business woman. Here I am myself. I like to keep the two personalities distinctly separate.' ' I am happy to meet Miss Deland herself,' said Gates, with a smile and a low bow. Then he was presented to Mrs. Deland, who looked very like her daughter, only that she was smaller, more delicate, and of course older, Gates felt drawn to her at once, and they fell into an easy conversation, somewhat to his amazement, for he usually found talking difficult. Miss Deland listened, but said little. She was crocheting lace, and Gates marveled at the swift play of her fingers, and found an aesthetic delight in the picture she made as she sat at work. He had always thought her plain till now. Altogether it was so pleasant that nearly an hour had passed before Gates recollected that he had come on a mere business errand, and rose to go. He was in such a brown study that he wentjhalf a mile beyond his lodgings. When he entered his room at last and lit the gas he glanced about him discontentedly. Everything seemed dingy and uncomfortable, and he had the first twinge of homesickness that he had had since he came to the city. ' When does the transformation take place, Miss Deland ?' he asked a few days later, as they came out of the office and walked along together. ' What transformation V ' Why, yours — from the new woman to the old-fashioned one.'

' Oh ! that depends upon circumstances. Usually not till I get home, but in winter and on other nights when I have to work late I'm afraid it takes place the minute I leave the Recorder building. lam a dreadful coward. You don't know how glad I am of your company this horrid dark evening.' ' The pleasure is mine.' ' Oh, don't feel obliged to make pretty speeches. I don't like them,' she rejoined with a trace of annoyance. ' I meant what I said. I was getting 1 quite nervous before you moved up this way. I had a sort of feeling once or twice in the winter that I was followed by some one. Very foolish, I suppose, bat it frightens me now when I think of it.' Gates gave a sudden impatient exclamation half under his breath. ' I don't wonder you are contemptuous,' she said. ' I did not mean the contempt for you. Would it make you any easier to know that it was — cr — a friend that was following you '? he asked, hesitatingly. Miss Deland gare him a sharp glance. ' Was it — it couldn't have been you, Mr. Gates ?' ' I did follow you all those dark nights you speak of,' he admitted. ' but I never meant you to know it.' 1 Why did you do it, please V ' Because it didn't seem safe for you to go alone, and I fancied that if I offered to go with you, you wouldn't let me.' Miss Deland was silent. ' You are not offended V he asked, when they had reached her door. 'Of course I'm not,' she returned, indignantly. ' I've been trying to think how I could express my appreciation — ' ' Oh, that's all right,' interrupted Gates. ' Good-night,' he called back over his shoulder. ' Mr. Gates, I want to ask you a question,' Miss Deland said, when next they walked home together. ' I am waiting to hear it.' ' When you first came to work on the Recorder five months ago, and for a long time afterward, didn't you disapprove of me very strongly ?' ' Did you notice as you came along this morning, Miss Deland, that the maples on that little square yonder were in blossom V Miss Deland laughed. 'I am answered,' she said. Then she became grave. ' You disliked and disapproved of me. and yet you went ever so far out of your way, night after night, sometimes when you were very tired, to see that I came to no harm on my way home !' I The hand-organs are out, too — another sign that spring is upon us.' ' Mr. Gates, why did you change your boarding-place V she demanded, as a sudden thought came to her. ' For several reasons,' he answered, a little stiffly. ' I spoke without thinking. I beg your pardon.' ' Granted.' After his first call on the Delands Gates contrived excuses for repeating it. He always came away early, though he would have liked to stay late, and he never went ot'tener than once a week, though he would have liked to go every evening. In his thoughts he now acknowledged that he liked Miss Deland — that he liked her very much. This liking he called friendship. He continued to call it friendship until a new man named McClintock came to work in the office and began paying Miss Deland many little attentions, which she seemed to fiud acceptable. Then Gates came to a better understanding of himself. It was summer now. Gates had taken more work upon himself and always outstayed Miss Deland at the office. One day, however, he planned his work so they should leave together. 'It seems quite like old times, doesn't it ?' she said. ' Yes,' he answered absently. Then, abruptly, 'Do you remember, Miss Deland. something you said once to Jameson about proposals and love-making V He looked straight before him as he spoke, angry with himself that he could not keep the restraint out of his tone uor the colour from coming into his face. She gave him a quick glance, and then looked away. ' I remember,' phe said. ' You were the business woman when you made those remarks. I have often wondered if you yourself held the same opinion.' ' Oh, yes. The business woman and I disagree on some things, but that is not one of them.' I 1 don't think you ought to feel that way,' he exclaimed, irritably. 4 Why, of course I oughtn't. It is a perfectly abominable way to feel. But how can I help it ?' ' You do not believe in marriage, then ?' ' Why, certamly I do. I think a happy marriage is the most beautiful thing in this world. And it improves people so much. I know several who were simply unendurable while single, but after a year or two of married life they had become charming men and women whom it was a pleasure to be with. It sort of humanises a person.' I But yet no man could show he wished to marry you without exciting your disgust, turning you against him, and insuring his refusal V ' Exactly.' ' It is fortunate that all women do not feel that way.' ' Isn't it !' ' Miss Deland, have you a heart V I 1 don't know. I have asked myself that question. There's one thing that makes me think perhaps I haye — I do love my mother.' ' Yes, that is true,' Gates admitted. ' I have often been touched by it. I had no right to say you were heartless.' Then he sighed, and neither spoke again till they parted.

In the office next day McClintook, having a little leisure on his hands, caught a large yellow cat that frequented .the building, and tying pieces of paper to bis feet, set him on the floor near Miss Deland's desk. The cat walked slowly down the room, lifting each leg high and shaking it at every step, and snarling querilously as he progressed. Nearly every one in the office was convulsed with laughter at the ludicrousness of it. Miss Deland langhed with the rest at first, then ran and caught up the cat, which had gone as far as Gates' chair, and pulled off the papers, pretending indignation. •Mr McClintock, you are an inhuman wretch !' she exclaimed. Gates, who had not even smiled, and in whose mind the conversation of the night before was still rankling, yielded to a sudden impulse. 'You had better take the contract to "improve" and " humanise " him,' he said significantly, in a savage undertone. Miss Deland looked at him and the colour rushed to her face. ' Thank you for your very kind advice, Mr Gates,' she answered, haughtily. ' I will take it into consideration.' She put down the cat and walked to her place with her head in the air, while Gates bit his lips and would have given half his salary for a year to recall what he had said. After this there was a decided coolness between Miss Deland and Gates. So the fall passed and winter came. McClintock's attentions to Miss Deland had become so marked by this time that they were a matter of comment to every one in the office, and not a few out of it. 'She seems to have found your "right man," 'Gates blurted 1 out to Jameson one day, noddiDg toward McClintock, who was leaning on Miss Deland's desk. ' Humph ! You don't think she cares anything about that fellow V ' She encourages him,' returned Gates, doggedly. 1 1 don't think so,' said Jameson, ' and it is only his thickskinned persistence that makes it look that way.' But Gates was not convinced. He had grown thin since summer, and his temper was not improved. Gates, however, even though glum and quick of temper, was universally liked, while as for McOlintock, no one, excepting Misß Deland, seemed to like him at all. 'He talks too much, has coo high an opinion of himself, and is none too honest,' was the general opinion. One afternoon in January Jameson came over to Gates, ostensibly to borrow a knife. 'Oh, that fool McClintock!' he groaned, under his breath. 'What has he been doing now?' asked Gates with assumed carelessness. ' Oh, he's the same as told Doddridge that he intends proposing to Miss Deland this evening,' answered Jameson, looking critically at the knife. 'He's going to take tea there— invited himself, probably. Is cocksure she'll have him, too. And I swear,' he continued, still intent on the knife, ' I'm most afraid she will, myself. There's no knowing what a woman will do — especially if she is unhappy.' ' What makes you think she is unhappy ?' demanded Gates, hoarsely. ' I thought she seemed to be in excellent spirits.' 'Those excellent spirits are all put on. You just catch her unaware, as I have once or twice lately. Well,' he added, with a sigh, ' what is to be will be. If I fail to bring- back this knife, kindly remind me.' After Jameson had left him, Gates leaned his face on his hands and thought. If he could only get the start of McClintock ! The chances were nine hundred and ninety -nine out of a thousand that it would do no good, but there was the one chance. He looked at the clock. Miss Deland would leave the office in about twenty minutes, and McClintock would be on hand to go with her. As he sat there his glance fell on his left hand, which rested on the desk in front of him. On the little finger was a ring which his only sister had given him just before she died, and which he had worn ever since. An idea came to him. With considerable difficulty he drew off the ring and folded it in a half sheet of paper. Then drawing a fresh Bheet toward him, he dipped his pen in ink and wrote hastily : My Dear Miss Deland, If you can accept the enclosed article— An Engagement Ring — it will afford me intense happiness ; if not acceptable, please return. Very sincerely yours, J. Albert Gates. Then he put the ring and what he had written in an envelope and addressed it. There was no messenger handy, so he delivered it himself. Miss Deland looked at him with cold indifference as he approacb*d. He laid the letter before her. ' Please read it now,' he said. Then he went back to his work. After a few minutes Gates gained courage to look toward Miss Deland, She was calmly unfolding a typewritten manuscript, and he watched her while she read the first p.irt of- tne last, and a paragraph here and there between, then refolding it, put it in an envelope, together with a rejection slip, sealed it, and calmly went •n with the next. In about ten minutes more she tidied her desk, and five minutes after that she bad on her outside garments, and in the company of MoClintock was leaving the office. In going out they passed near Gates. Miss Deland, however, did not so much as glance in his direction. She carried herself proudly, her eyes were bright, her cheeks tinged with colour, her lips smiling. Gates held his hand against his face in a way to shield it from observation. There was a tight feeling in his throat, a smarting sensation in his eyes. Someone touched him on the arm. He started angrily and looked around. It was McClintock, who thrust an envelope into

his hand. ' Miss Deland asked me to come back and give you this,' and hurried away. * ' Gates' face grew hot. How like an unforgiving woman to send her refusal by the hand of his rival, and so enhance its bitterness I ■ He he H ifc in his hKDA and looked at the address for a full mmute. Then setting his lips together, he slowly opened the envelope and unfolded the letter. It was very brief. Mr Dear Mr. Gates, Your article— An Engagement Ring— is accepted. Very truly yours > Emnor Bertram Deland. ' — Elizabeth Robbins, in Woman's Home Companion.