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Excuse Me! (Dramatic Reading)

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147 <h3 class="p6">CHAPTER XXI MATRIMONY TO AND FRO</h3> And the next morning they were in Wyoming—well toward the center of that State. They had left behind the tame levels and the truly rural towns and they were among foothills and mountains, passing cities of wildly picturesque repute, like Cheyenne, and Laramie, Bowie, and Medicine Bow, and Bitter Creek, whose very names imply literature and war whoops, cow-boy yelps, barking revolvers, another redskin biting the dust, cattle stampedes, town-paintings, humorous lynchings and bronchos in epileptic frenzy. But the talk of this train was concerned with none of these wonders, which the novelists and the magazinist have perhaps a trifle overpublished. The talk of this train was concerned with the eighth wonder of the world, a semi-detached bridal couple. Mrs. Whitcomb was eager enough to voice the sentiment of the whole populace, when she looked up from her novel in the observation room and, nudging Mrs. Temple, drawled: "By the way, my dear, has that bridal couple made up its second night's quarrel yet?" 148 "The Mallorys?" Mrs. Temple flushed as she answered, mercifully. "Oh, yes, they were very friendly again this morning." Mrs. Whitcomb's countenance was cynical: "My dear, I've been married twice and I ought to know something about honeymoons, but this honeyless honeymoon——" she cast up her eyes and her hands in despair. The women were so concerned about Mr. and "Mrs." Mallory, that they hardly noticed the uncomfortable plight of the Wellingtons, or the curious behavior of the lady from the stateroom who seemed to be afraid of something and never spoke to anybody. The strange behavior of Anne Gattle and Ira Lathrop even escaped much comment, though they were forever being stumbled on when anybody went out to the observation platform. When they were dislodged from there, they sat playing checkers and talking very little, but making eyes at one another and sighing like furnaces. They had evidently concocted some secret of their own, for Ira, looking at his watch, murmured sentimentally to Anne: "Only a few hours more, Annie." And Anne turned geranium-color and dropped a handful of checkers. "I don't know how I can face it." Ira growled like a lovesick lion: "Aw, what do you care?" 149 "But I was never married before, Ira," Anne protested, "and on a train, too." "Why, all the bridal couples take to the railroads." "I should think it would be the last place they'd go," said Anne—a sensible woman, Anne! "Look at the Mallories—how miserable they are." "I thought they were happy," said Ira, whose great virtue it was to pay little heed to what was none of his business. "Oh, Ira," cried Anne, "I hope we shan't begin to quarrel as soon as we are married." "As if anybody could quarrel with you, Anne," he said. "Do you think I'll be so monotonous as that?" she retorted. Her spunk delighted him beyond words. He whispered: "Anne, you're so gol-darned sweet if I don't get a chance to kiss you, I'll bust." "Why, Ira—we're on the train." "Da—darn the train! Who ever heard of a fellow proposing and getting engaged to a girl and not even kissing her." "But our engagement is so short." "Well, I'm not going to marry you till I get a kiss." Perhaps innocent old Anne really believed this blood-curdling threat. It brought her instantly to 150 terms, though she blushed: "But everybody's always looking." "Come out on the observation platform." "Oh, Ira, again?" "I dare you." "I take you—but" seeing that Mrs. Whitcomb was trying to overhear, she whispered: "let's pretend it's the scenery." So Ira rose, pushed the checkers aside, and said in an unusually positive tone: "Ah, Miss Gattle, won't you have a look at the landscape?" "Oh, thank you, Mr. Lathrop," said Anne, "I just love scenery." They wandered forth like the Sleeping Beauty and her princely awakener, and never dreamed what gigglings and nudgings and wise head-noddings went on back of them. Mrs. Wellington laughed loudest of all at the lovers whose heads had grown gray while their hearts were still so green. It was shortly after this that the Wellingtons themselves came into prominence in the train life. As the train approached Green River, and its copper-basined stream, the engineer began to set the air-brakes for the stop. Jimmie Wellington, boozily half-awake in the smoking room, wanted to know what the name of the station was. Everybody is always eager to oblige a drunken man, so Ashton and Fosdick tried to get a window open to look out. 151 The first one they labored at, they could not budge after a biceps-breaking tug. The second flew up with such ease that they went over backward. Ashton put his head out and announced that the approaching depot was labelled "Green River." Wellington burbled: "What a beautiful name for a shtation." Ashton announced that there was something beautifuller still on the platform—"Oh, a peach!—a nectarine! and she's getting on this train." Even Doctor Temple declared that she was a dear little thing, wasn't she? Wellington pushed him aside, saying: "Stand back, Doc., and let me see; I have a keen sense of beau'ful." "Be careful," cried the doctor, "he'll fall out of the window." "Not out of that window," Ashton sagely observed, seeing the bulk of Wellington. As the train started off again, Little Jimmie distributed alcoholic smiles to the Green Riverers on the platform and called out: "Goo'bye, ever'body. You're all abslootly—ow! ow!" He clapped his hand to his eye and crawled back into the car, groaning with pain. "What's the matter," said Wedgewood. "Got something in your eye?" "No, you blamed fool. I'm trying to look through my thumb." 152 "Poor fellow!" sympathized Doctor Temple, "it's a cinder!" "A cinder! It's at leasht a ton of coal." "I say, old boy, let me have a peek," said Wedgewood, screwing in his monocle and peering into the depths of Wellington's eye. "I can't see a bally thing." "Of course not, with that blinder on," growled the miserable wretch, weeping in spite of himself and rubbing his smarting orb. "Don't rub that eye," Ashton counselled, "rub the other eye." "It's my eye; I'll rub it if I want to. Get me a doctor, somebody. I'm dying." "Here's Doctor Temple," said Ashton, "right on the job." Wellington turned to the old clergyman with pathetic trust, and the deceiver writhed in his disguise. The best he could think of was: "Will somebody lend me a lead pencil?" "What for?" said Wellington, uneasily. "I am going to roll your upper lid up on it," said the Doctor. "Oh, no, you're not," said the patient. "You can roll your own lids!" Then the conductor, still another conductor, wandered on the scene and asked as if it were not a world-important matter: "What's the matter—pick up a cinder?" 153 "Yes. Perhaps you can get it out," the alleged doctor appealed. The conductor nodded: "The best way is this—take hold of the winkers." "The what?" mumbled Wellington. "Grab the winkers of your upper eyelid in your right hand——" "I've got 'em." "Now grab the winkers of your lower eyelid in your left hand. Now raise the right hand, push the under lid under the overlid and haul the overlid over the underlid; when you have the overlid well over the under——" Wellington waved him away: "Say, what do you think I'm trying to do? stuff a mattress? Get out of my way. I want my wife—lead me to my wife." "An excellent idea," said Dr. Temple, who had been praying for a reconciliation. He guided Wellington with difficulty to the observation room and, finding Mrs. Wellington at the desk as usual, he began: "Oh, Mrs. Wellington, may I introduce you to your husband?" Mrs. Wellington rose haughtily, caught a sight of her suffering consort and ran to him with a cry of "Jimmie!" "Lucretia!" "What's happened—are you killed?" "I'm far from well. But don't worry. My life insurance is paid up." 154 "Oh, my poor little darling," Mrs. Jimmie fluttered, "What on earth ails you?" She turned to the doctor. "Is he going to die?" "I think not," said the doctor. "It's only a bad case of cinder-in-the-eyetis." Thus reassured, Mrs. Wellington went into the patient's eye with her handkerchief. "Is that the eye?" she asked. "No!" he howled, "the other one." She went into that and came out with the cinder. "There! It's just a tiny speck." Wellington regarded the mote with amazement. "Is that all? It felt as if I had Pike's Peak in my eye." Then he waxed tender. "Oh, Lucretia, how can I ever——" But she drew away with a disdainful: "Give me back my hand, please." "Now, Lucretia," he protested, "don't you think you're carrying this pretty far?" "Only as far as Reno," she answered grimly, which stung him to retort: "You'd better take the beam out of your own eye, now that you've taken the cinder out of mine," but she, noting that they were the center of interest, observed: "All the passengers are enjoying this, my dear. You'd better go back to the café." Wellington regarded her with a revulsion to wrath. He thundered at her: "I will go back, but allow me to inform you, my dear madam, that I'll 155 not drink another drop—just to surprise you." Mrs. Wellington shrugged her shoulders at this ancient threat and Jimmie stumbled back to his lair, whither the men followed him. Feeling sympathy in the atmosphere, Little Jimmie felt impelled to pour out his grief: "Jellmen, I'm a brok'n-heartless man. Mrs. Well'n'ton is a queen among women, but she has temper of tarant——" Wedgewood broke in: "I say, old boy, you've carried this ballast for three days now, wherever did you get it?" Wellington drew himself up proudly for a moment before he slumped back into himself. "Well, you see, when I announced to a few friends that I was about to leave Mrs. Well'n'ton forever and that I was going out to—to—you know." "Reno. We know. Well?" "Well, a crowd of my friends got up a farewell sort of divorce breakfast—and some of 'em felt so very sad about my divorce that they drank a little too much, and the rest of my friends felt so very glad about my divorce, that they drank a little too much. And, of course, I had to join both parties." "And that breakfast," said Ashton, "lasted till the train started, eh?" Wellington glowered back triumphantly. "Lasted till the train started? Jellmen, that breakfast is going yet!" <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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