Wired Love · Chapter 9 (2/2)

“You have caught her now!” said Cyn gayly, as she peeled an orange. “But you will never do even that again, will you, Nat?”

“One such experience is quite enough for me,” Nattie replied.

“Still, the next one might not have red hair, or smell of musk!” Jo remarked.

“He might be even worse, though!” interposed the penitent on the stool.

With a strangely puzzled look, Mr. Stanwood glanced from one to the other, observing which, Cyn said,

“You don’t understand, of course. May I tell him, Nat?”

“Ah! well⁠—yes!” Nattie replied with an air of vexed resignation. “I suppose I may as well make up my mind to be laughed at on account of that story forever and a day.”

“I am as much of a victim as you, for I was intensely interested in the unknown,” laughed Cyn; then turning to Mr. Stanwood, she went on. “It appears telegraph operators have a way of talking together over the wire, knowing little about each other, and nothing at all of their mutual personal appearance. In this manner, Nat became acquainted with a young man whom she knew as C, and grew, to speak mildly, interested in him⁠—Now, Nat, you know you did⁠—and so, as I remarked previously, did I⁠—we were introduced over the wire. In fact, he seemed everything that was nice and agreeable, and if we did not actually fall in love with him⁠—you see, I am sharing your glory all I can, Nat⁠—it is a wonder.”

“If this C knew the impression he made on two young ladies, he would certainly feel complimented,” Mr. Stanwood, who was playing with his knife and fork, here interrupted.

“Fortunately, he never really knew,” replied Cyn, while Nattie looked somewhat gloomily at her goblet of coffee, in memory of the romance that collapsed. “To continue this ower true tale!⁠—Thus far all was mysterious, enchanting, romantic. But now comes the dark sequel. One day C called⁠—bodily.”

Mr. Stanwood started and looked quickly up at Nattie, who, without observing his glance, murmured contemptuously,

“Odious creature!”

At this he turned with a perplexed look again to Cyn, who proceeded.

“Yes, an odious creature he proved to be. Only think, he had red hair, and dreadful teeth, smelt of musk, wore cheap jewelry, and, in short, was decidedly vulgar!”

“What!” exclaimed Mr. Stanwood, staring at her as if he thought she was bereft of her senses. “What!” and he dropped his knife and fork, and pushed his chair back violently, to the alarm of the Duchess, who was immediately behind.

Cyn appeared astonished at his vehemence; but Nattie, too occupied with thoughts of this newly-revived grievance to observe it, repeated,

“Red hair, all bear’s grease, and everything to match!”

“Do you mean to tell me,” Mr. Stanwood asked, looking at her earnestly, and speaking with great energy, “that a person, such as you describe, called on you and represented himself to be C?”

“Exactly,” Nattie replied; “first telling me he was going away to substitute for a day, and then coming upon me in all his odiousness.”

“The story seems to interest you,” added Cyn, glancing at him scrutinizingly.

Mr. Stanwood looked at her, at Nattie, mused a moment, and then burst into a laugh, equal even to the one Quimby had caused.

“It does interest me,” he said, as soon as he could speak; “very much, indeed. It is really the best joke⁠—considered from one point⁠—I ever heard. And, of course, after that day, C was cut?”

“Indeed he was,” Nattie replied, scornfully.

“The circuit was broken after that!” Jo added, technically.

“And a romance was spoiled in the first act,” added Cyn, rising from the now vanished feast.

“Poor C!” said Mr. Stanwood, following her example. “Really, Miss Archer, I have enjoyed this dinner better than any I ever had, and the climax is the best of all!”

“I wish we might have such a feast every day!” said Jo, regretfully.

“And, except the damage⁠—I don’t refer to any done myself, I⁠—I am used to it, you know⁠—I quite agree with you about the dinner. And as for the joke⁠—I⁠—I⁠—really it was quite a serious one to Miss Rogers, at the time, I assure you. Bless my soul! You should have seen how⁠—how blue she was for a week, you know!” said Quimby.

Nattie colored as Mr. Stanwood glanced at her, and knowing he could not but notice the blush, thought angrily, “How dreadful it is to have such honest, outspoken people as Quimby about!”

“Come, Nat, and help me clear away the remains,” said Cyn. Apparently glad enough was Nattie to obey, and turn aside her burning face from the sight of those merry brown eyes.

In a very few moments the banqueting hall was transformed to a parlor, with only Quimby sucking an orange on his stool that he refused to leave, Jo cracking nuts, and the Duchess eating a fig, to tell of what had been.