A Literary Courtship/Chapter 6

by Anna Fuller

VI.

The Pilgrimage.

ONE day about the middle of November, John stalked into my office with his most determined air. If any one were to ask me what I consider to be John Brunt's chief characteristic, I should say it was determination. I have a will of my own, as many people would readily testify. In fact, I have, in my own family, a reputation for being rather stubborn. But, Great Cæsar! I am a mush of concession compared to John when once he has an idea. So when he marched into my office that morning,—there didn't happen to be any clients at the moment—I was curious to know what he was after. I could see that he was in good spirits to begin with.

"Hollo, Dick!" said he. "I hope that's not a brief that I'm interrupting."

It was in reality a letter to my father, thanking him for a very opportune remittance. But Idid not think it necessary to explain, and I got it out of sight, saying, carelessly: "Never mind, old fellow! I'm not pressed for time."

John grinned, in a way I did not altogether like, and sat down on the arm of a chair.

"Well, Dick," he said, without more ado, "where do you suppose you and I are likely to be, week after next at this time?"

"If we are together," I replied, "we are likely to be in this office."

"You're out there!" he cried. "Better guess again."

"Perhaps you know more of my future movements than I do," said I, pretending to resent his assumption.

"You may bet your hat I do!"

Sometimes when Brunt is in the very best of spirits, he relapses into the baldest slang. To rest his English, he explains.

"Bless you, Dick," I've heard him say, "you don't want to drive a willing horse to death—I shouldn't have any English left if I squandered it on you!"

"Perhaps you would be kind enough to enlighten me as to my immediate future," said I.

"Of course I will. That's just what I looked in for," and he glanced at me quizzically, yet I fancied a little doubtfully too.

"Fire away," said I, "but just bear in mind that the lease of this office has another year to run."

John had walked to the window and stood with his back planted against it, fixing me with that look which I think I have mentioned before, as though he were taking aim.

"You and I," he announced with deliberate emphasis, "are to be in Colorado—don't interrupt me—scaling Pike's Peak, strolling through the Garden of the Gods, where we shall probably pluck Olympian bouquets, bowling over the limitless prairies"—this with a grand flourish,—"penetrating into inaccessible cañons——"

"And making the acquaintance of Miss Lilian Leslie Lamb," I suggested with a knowing smile. "It's a good idea, old man. Go, with my blessing, and count upon my being with you in spirit."

"No, Dick! I wouldn't give a nickle for your spirit. It's you I must have. Flesh and blood are good enough for me."

"You forget, my dear boy, that my flesh and blood are indispensably necessary to my clients—and also that the railroad companies have an unconquerable propensity to deplete the pocketbooks of flesh-and-blood travellers. Mine is not plethoric."

"Out again," cried John. "We are both going at the invitation of my friend, Miss Lamb."

"At the invitation of Miss Lamb," said I, rather stupidly I confess.

"Certainly. Of Miss Lamb, the distinguished novelist. If I am not too proud to accept such an invitation from a lady, why should you be? A new batch of four thousand is coming out for the holidays, and she wishes her collaborator—that is, myself—and her agent—that's you, Dick—to regard the proceeds as their fair share of the plunder. She only stipulates that they shall enlarge their knowledge of the world, and especially of their own country, by taking the proposed journey, thus fitting themselves to——"

This being sheer bosh I put a stop to it, and a lively discussion ensued. The outcome of it was the triumph of Determination over Common Sense, by means of arguments which might be wearisome if repeated. Only one fact can be of interest—the fact that John's assertion was correct, that we were actually in Colorado Springs within two weeks of the time of that conversation.

In justice to myself, I should add that I am not in the habit of travelling about at my friends' expense, but that seeing how much John's heart was set upon my going with him—for he thinks more of me than one would suppose at the first blush, and I knew he would rather have me along than any one else, and that it would be rather slow music to go alone—considering that, I say, and that I should feel just as he did if the positions were reversed, and that he really was uncommonly flush just then (what a snarl a fellow gets into, by the way, when he talks apologetically!), I thought I might as well go, if only to keep him in countenance. I must also confess that I shared his interest in Miss Lamb so far as to feel that Pike's Peak dwindled to a mere nothing in comparison.