MEETING MISS MARJORIE.

The next morning was an awfully long one. I had decided to call on Miss May in the afternoon, "between the hours of two and four," as she had stipulated. Although I had never seen her and had no description of what she was like, I already hoped she would be the One to make my coming journey agreeable. I had the old impetuosity, you will see, that absence of calm deliberation that had sent me to a Sanitarium and nearly to my grave.

If I intended to take a train scheduled to start for any given point at ten I was always in the station without fail at half past nine, stamping my feet at the closed gate, with alternate glances at my watch. If I had an engagement of special interest for a Friday, the Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Thursdays dragged horribly.

It had been explained to me fully by Dr. Chambers that I must reform this by my own exertions and that drugs could but assist me in a slight degree. Still breaking away from the habits of years is not an easy thing, and in spite of all I could do I had the old nervousness that day.

At about eleven o'clock, having exhausted the charms of breakfast, the morning papers and several cigars, I thought of a plan to get rid of an hour or more, and taking my coat, hat and cane, I walked down to Cook's office to see if anything new had transpired with regard to the trip of the "Madiana." There was a rumor in the Journal that yellow fever had broken out in Jamaica, one of the points where I wanted to touch, and although the source of the news did not particularly recommend it, I thought it well to inquire what the agent had heard in relation to the matter.

As I entered the office my attention was attracted by a quiet appearing man of about thirty, dressed in black and wearing a white tie, who was evidently contemplating the same journey as myself. Now a man wearing a white tie may be either a clergyman, a gambler or a confidence man, and I had no faith in my ability to decide which of those eminent professions this particular person was most likely to adorn. He glanced up from a prospectus which he was examining, as I entered, and made way for me at the counter.

For reasons which I could not explain I liked the man at first sight. If he was a rogue, I reasoned, it was no more true of him, probably, than of most men, and there was no reason to suppose that he had any design in going to the West Indies other than to recuperate his health, which appeared rather delicate. If, on the contrary, he was any sort of clergyman I would be delighted with his companionship.

When the agent introduced us to each other, as he did a few minutes later, I discovered that the white tie had no especial significance, being merely a fad or fancy; for Mr. Wesson informed me that he was a hardware merchant from Boston, with a slight tendency to bronchitis, and was going south to escape February and March, which are usually injurious to persons affected by that complaint in the Eastern States.

I learned from the agent that the "Madiana" was filling up rapidly, and that there were now no entire staterooms unoccupied, except two or three containing four berths. Mr. Wesson had no choice but to share the room of some one who was already on the list, and at the time I came in he was making natural inquiries as to the other passengers, in the hope of selecting a congenial roommate. The agent told him what he could about those whom he had personally seen, but the information was necessarily meagre.

"It may not seem specially important," remarked Mr. Wesson, in an affable manner, to me, "who occupies the other berth, for a few weeks on a steamer, but I happened on one occasion to get a very disagreeable companion, and ever since I have tried to use caution. I should have entered my name earlier, and thus have secured an entire room, as you have done, but I waited a long time before deciding whether to come this way or another. Now, I am just a little too late to get a room by myself, unless I wish to pay three fares for one person, which candidly I do not feel like doing."

I suggested that unless the boat was very much crowded, which I did not anticipate, an arrangement for a change of cabin could doubtless be made in case the first one proved unbearable. With the remark that this was true, Mr. Wesson decided to take the remaining berth in a room not far from mine, in the after part of the ship, which had the advantage of being removed from all the smells of the cook's galley, as well as the dumping of ashes, which often annoys people quartered amidships at a very early hour in the morning.

I asked the agent for a list of the passengers, so far as he was able to give them, desiring to see if there were any names of people who knew me, and devoutly hoping there were none. Mr. Wesson and I went over them together, and made a simultaneous announcement that the entire lot were strangers to us.

They had come from the West, the North, the South, hardly any from New York, and only one from Boston, a strange thing when every traveller knows that Bostonians rival Chicagoans in being found in all sorts of places.

"I often think," said Mr. Wesson, with a smile, "of the odd fate that brings fifty or hundred people together on a steamer, where neither sees a single familiar face except those he has brought with him; and before the voyage is ended the miniature world is like the larger one outside, with its strong likes and dislikes, its petty jealousies, its small talk, its gauging of character and capacity. Give me a month at sea with a man, and I think I can figure him up pretty well."

I agreed with him to a great extent, but remarked that there was always the disadvantage that the "man" might "figure us up" at the same time. I said further that I had found some most delightful companions on board ship who had proved insufferable bores when encountered later on terra firma.

"Your extra berth is reserved still," said a clerk, coming forward and addressing me, "the one in the opposite stateroom. I don't wish to hasten you, but the list is filling up very fast."

"You won't have to wait but a day or two more, I think," was my reply. "Hold it till Saturday, unless you hear from me. Perhaps I may be able to tell you positively to-morrow."

"If the lady is willing to have another share the room with her," he said, "I have an application that I can fill at once. A very pleasant young woman, too, if I may be allowed to judge. She is to be accompanied by her uncle, and as he is not entirely well he is anxious to have her as near him as possible."

I answered that I must ask a little delay before deciding that question. I told him I had three cousins, and as I could not yet say which would go I could not tell whether she would consent to share her cabin with another person. If I could arrange it, I would gladly do so.

"You are to have a travelling companion, then," remarked Mr. Wesson. "Excuse me for saying I envy you. Mrs. Wesson expected to go with me, but the doctor has forbidden it. She is quite frail, and he fears the seasickness she is almost sure to have. I made a canvass of my female relations that are eligible, and one after another found reasons for declining. I am not used to travelling alone, and I don't fancy it in the least. One of the pleasantest things in visiting foreign parts is to have some one along to share the pleasures."

As we parted he asked me if I would exchange cards, and I readily did so. I already felt better acquainted with him that I am with some men whom I have known for months.

"If you find you are to bunk with a specially ugly customer," I said, in parting, "take my other berth. You can keep it for an 'anchor to windward,' as our distinguished statesman from Maine might have said. I don't think you and I will quarrel."

He thanked me profusely, and it was plain that the suggestion was the very one he would have made himself, had he felt warranted in doing so. He mentioned that he would be at the Imperial for several days and asked me, if I found it convenient, to dine with him there some evening before he returned to Boston; which I told him I would try to do.

It was now lunch-time and I thought with exultation of the closeness of the hour when I might call at the lodging of Miss Marjorie May on Forty-fifth Street, and see the lady whom I had already surrounded with the most charming attributes of which a young and impulsive mind could conceive. That I might be disappointed I had also thought, in a vague way, but I had little apprehension on that score.

I went over to the club, and partook of a light repast. Then I looked at my watch and found that, if I walked slowly, I need not reach the number at which I was to call before two o'clock.

But I did not walk slowly. It still lacked ten minutes of the hour when I found myself in front of the residence. I took a turn down Seventh Avenue, and through Forty-fourth Street, to dispose of the remaining minutes. Then, with my heart beating in a way that Dr. Chambers would not have approved—and for which I could give no sensible reason—I climbed the tall steps and rang the bell.

A colored servant answered, after what seemed ages, and when I asked if Miss May was in, invited me to walk into the parlor. She then requested my card, and I had nearly given it to her, when I recollected that it was not my intention to reveal my true name, at this stage.

I said I had forgotten my card case and that she need only say it was the gentleman from the Herald.

During the next ten minutes I did my best to compose my nerves, for I dreaded exhibiting their shaky condition to one in whose presence I would need all my firmness. The room was darkened, and I could see the objects in it but dimly, while the windows, being tightly curtained, afforded me no relief in that direction.

"Why does she not come?" I said to myself, over and over. "If she wanted the situation for which she wrote, a little more celerity of movement would be becoming."

I rose and walked up and down the room. The minutes lengthened horribly. I grew almost angry at the delay and had half a mind to drop the whole business, when I heard a low voice at the door, and saw the outlines of a graceful young form.

"I am Miss May," said a bright voice, that I liked instantly. "If you don't mind coming up stairs I think we can see each other better."

Mind coming up stairs! I would have climbed to the top of the World Building, never minding the elevator.

"Certainly," I responded, and I followed her up two long flights, and into a front chamber, where in the bright light I saw her distinctly for the first time.

The reader will expect—certainly the feminine reader—a description of the sight that met my eyes, and how can I give it? A relation of that sort always seems to me but a modified version of the record of a prisoner at a police station, where he is put under a measuring machine, stood on scales and pumped as to his ancestry and previous record as a criminal.

The impression made on me at that moment by Miss May was wholly general. She was not handsome, in the ordinary acceptation of that term, but very engaging. Her smile put me much at my ease.

I could have told you no more, had you met me that evening. All that I knew or cared to know, before I had taken the chair to which she motioned me, was that out of the million women in Greater New York, I would choose her, and only her, were they presented for my approval one by one.

She was evidently waiting for me to begin the conversation, after the manner of a discreet young woman in the presence for the first time of a possible employer. I made the excuse that the stairs were long, to explain my shortness of breath. For I found it very difficult to talk.

She was kind enough to admit that the stairs were hard. She also made some allusion to the weather, and to the unseasonableness of the temperature, for although it was at the very end of the year there had been hardly any snow and very little cold. This helped me along and finally I managed to reach the business on hand.

"I have received a great many answers to my advertisement," I said, "and a certain number seem to have been sent in a spirit of mischief rather than seriousness. I hope that was not the case with yours."

She shook her head and smiled faintly.

"How shall we begin, then?" I asked. "Shall I submit a few questions to you, or would you rather put some queries of your own?"

"As you please," she said, and I noted that there was a confidence in her manner that seemed at variance with her appearance. "Perhaps I may inquire, to commence with, what are the duties of the position."

I hesitated a moment, feeling my breath coming shorter, and this time I had not the stairs to fall back upon as an excuse.

"I have recently recovered from a severe illness," I finally managed to say, "although you might not guess it from my appearance. I may as well admit that while I have use for the services of a typewriter in some work I wish to do, I need quite as much an intelligent person to travel with me—as—a—"

"Companion?" she interpolated, quickly.

"Well, yes, perhaps that is as good a word as any. My physician says I ought not to go alone. I have the literary work to do. Under all the circumstances a combination of assistant in that respect and friendly companionship seems advisable."

She bowed affably, doing her best to put me at my ease.

"You are a younger man than I expected," she said.

"I hope that is not a serious objection," I remarked, "for I see no way to overcome it at present. I want this considered as a business matter—in a way. I should pay a regular salary, and give you the best of travelling accommodations. I am only twenty-four, and you wrote me that you are twenty-two, but I cannot understand how the addition of fifty years to either of those ages would make my proposition more agreeable."

She bowed again, still pleasantly, and inquired what sort of work I was engaged on. I told her, after which she asked what machine I preferred to use. This I left to her, although I mentioned that I owned a Hammond, which had the advantage of being more easily carried than some. She said she had never used that machine, but could easily learn.

"Only give me three or four days alone with it," she smiled. "And now, as these things must all be settled, what salary do you wish to pay?"

I wonder what salary I would not have paid, at that moment, rather than hear her decline the position on the ground that it was insufficient, but I realized that I must not seem over-anxious.

"I would prefer you to name the price," I replied, "I do not think we shall quarrel on that score."

"When do you wish me to leave the city?" was her question.

"I have already engaged berths in the 'Madiana,' of the Quebec SS. Line, which will leave her dock on the North River, Jan. 12th next."

"Berths? You have engaged two?"

"It was necessary to secure them. I have determined that I will not go alone. The list is filling up and I had to put down the names."

"What names?" she asked. "You can hardly have given them mine."

I was getting more and more at my ease. I said I had registered for "self and friend," with the understanding that the "friend" would be a lady.

"Ah!" she said. "Now, how do you intend that I shall travel—if it is decided that I am to go?"

She did not redden as she asked the question, and I do not know why I did.

"As my cousin," I answered. "It is my belief, Miss May," I added, "that you will find this journey very charming, if you go about it right. To be registered simply as my secretary, which will come as near as anything to the fact, or not to be given any title at all, might arouse silly gossip among the other passengers. A relationship of the kind I suggest will still idle tongues and make your position more agreeable."

She thought a little while and then said, suddenly:

"You—you are not married, I suppose?"

"Not in the least," I replied, smiling.

"There is hardly time for much preparation," was her next observation. "What kind of clothing should I need?"

"After the first few days, about the same as you would want here in August. I am not well versed in ladies' attire, but I should say that a travelling dress of some very thin material would be the first requisite; then a 'best' dress or two of very light weight; a liberal supply of articles" (I stammered slightly) "that need laundering, as there may be a fortnight at a time when washing cannot be obtained; thin shoes, slippers, walking boots suitable for summer, two or three hats—and—" I paused to think if I had omitted anything—"an umbrella and parasol."

She laughed as I finished. A sweet, engaging laugh that made me resolve that I would kidnap her and convey her on board by force in case she refused to go.

"No gloves?" she inquired, archly. "No cape, no—"

"Oh, there are doubtless a lot of kickshaws that will occur to you," I admitted, "that I need not mention. I am pretty sure that I do not even know the names of all of them. On January 12th and 13th the weather will be winter, on the 14th, 15th and 16th spring, and the rest of the time till May midsummer. I don't know as I can give you any better guide."

She said she would make an overhauling of her last year's clothing and see where she stood; which led me to ask, with, I fear too much anxiety in my tone, if she had, then, decided to go.

"Have you decided?" she replied, parrying the question. "You cannot have seen all the women who sent replies. Perhaps you will yet find one more suitable for your purpose. It is only fair to both of us to leave the matter open for a day or two."

"No," I answered, shaking my head decidedly. "As you said a few moments ago, the time is very brief for any one to get ready. Let us settle the matter now. And if you wish any part of your salary advanced—on account of the immediate expense you will have to assume—we shall have no difficulty in arranging that matter."

She grew thoughtful, and finally begged me to give her till the following morning, at least. She promised to send a messenger to my address before noon. I did not like the idea, but I could say nothing in opposition without appearing unreasonable, and ended by consenting to it.

"I passed some months in the part of the world to which I am now going, three years since," I said, to strengthen her resolutions in favor of the journey, "and I can assure you that the voyage, from beginning to end, is simply delightful. The Caribbean is truly a summer sea; the Antilles are beautiful to look at, charming in flora and delicious in atmosphere. Then think of the escape you will have from the freezing and thawing of a New York spring. I promise to treat you with all consideration, and as for the labor you are to do, it will be very light indeed. If there is anything I have omitted, consider it included. I am sure," I added, as I rose to go, "that you will never be sorry for the chance that brings us into each other's company."

"Oh," she answered, with superb frankness, "I have no fear that I shall not like you, or that you will treat me in any manner unbecoming a gentleman. I only wish to think the matter over. In the meantime let me thank you for the partiality with which you view my application."

She insisted on going to the street door with me, where I bade her good-by without more ado, fearful that if I talked much longer I should say something foolish.

"To-morrow morning, then, I am to get your letter," I said, handing her a card on which I had previously written an address that would do for the present—"David Camwell, Lambs Club." "And to-morrow afternoon, at two again, I shall return to complete our arrangements."

As she bowed an affirmative, I lifted my hat and left her there; wondering why I had not chosen the Klondike for my vacation, so near the boiling point was every drop of blood in my veins.