Cupid En Route/Chapter 12
XII
IT was nearly twenty minutes later that he returned with a wooden box in his arms.
"There aren't any trays in St. Anselme," he said as he kicked the door shut. "Nor baskets, either. So I got a box. I'm afraid this isn't a very dainty repast, but it seems to be the best the town can afford." He set the box on the floor and displayed the contents. "Coffee, bread and butter, fried venison and stewed fruit."
"Lovely!" she cried.
"Well, wait and see. The coffee doesn't look like any coffee I ever saw outside a mining camp, and I'm afraid the meat is pretty cold by now, I had to bring the stuff about a half-mile."
"What a shame! I dare say you're just frozen again."
"No, I'm as warm as toast. Speaking of toast, why not have some? Couldn't we toast the bread at the fire?"
"Of course! Give it to me and let me do it. Is there a fork?"
"Two; good old fashioned forks with three tines and beautiful bone handles. Here you are. Let me open that door for you. I'll put the coffee on top here to keep hot. There aren't any napkins, I'm sorry to say,"
"Who wants them?" she asked merrily. "You can't eat napkins."
Five minutes later they were feasting happily. The box, inverted on the bench between them, made an acceptable if insecure table. The coffee, sipped from clumsy stoneware cups and stirred with tin spoons, was a new experience to them both, but Wade secretly thought that it came nearer to being nectar than anything he had ever tasted. The toast was a huge success, and the venison—
"I'll bet this deer was no spring chicken," said Wade as he struggled with a piece on his plate.
"How absurd you are," answered Prue. "Who ever heard of a deer that was a spring chicken? It's perfectly delicious and I was never so hungry in my life."
There were no sauce-plates for the stewed peaches, so they ate them from the bowl with their coffee spoons.
"We ought to have eaten these first as appetizers," said Wade. "There're as sour as vinegar."
"Put some sugar on them," she advised. "I'm going to. I'll have to use my own spoon, though. There isn't any more bread, is there?"
There wasn't, and Wade shook his head disconsolately.
"I ought to have brought more," he said,
"Oh, I've had quite enough. And it was all as nice as could be. You are a wonderful caterer, Mr. Forbes. And now, will you have some spruce gum?" She laughed.
"No, thanks, but I'm going to smoke if I may."
She nodded and watched him fill his pipe and light it. Then he returned the dishes to the box and shoved it under the bench. Prue looked at her watch.
"Why, it's almost seven!" she exclaimed. "Isn't that nice?"
"Is it?" he asked, his face falling.
"Isn't it? There's only two hours longer to wait. That is, if the train is on time. But I suppose that is too much to hope for."
"Probably," he said.
"When does your train go?" she asked interestedly.
"About eight in the morning."
"What? You don't mean that you are going to stay here all night? Isn't there one before that?"
"Well, yes, there's one along in about thirty minutes, but I'm going to see you off before I leave."
"Oh, but you mustn't! Why, you'd have to stay here for hours and hours!"
"Yes, and alone. I mean—" he hesitated, then went on desperately, "Oh, it's not the waiting I mind; it's losing you!"
"Poor Mr. Forbes!" she sighed lugubriously.
Wade jumped up and strode to the window and stood a moment staring unseeingly out into the storm. Then he turned, with a shake of his shoulders, and came back to where she sat.
"Oh, I suppose I'm acting like an awful ass," he exclaimed with a wry smile, "and I don't blame you for laughing at me. Perhaps I'd better go outside again for awhile."
"Outside? But why?"
"Oh, because." He sank onto the bench and stared moodily at his interlaced fingers. Ensued a silence broken only by the soft fall of a coal in the stove.
"I suppose it bores you to death," he said finally, "but I just have to talk about it."
"It?" she asked.
"Yes, about myself—and you. You see, I can't help thinking— it may be conceited and all that— but somehow it seems to me that if I had only come around sooner I might have stood a chance. Even then circumstances would have been against me, I guess, but—"
"Please, what are the mysterious circumstances, Mr. Forbes? You mentioned them before, didn't you?"
"I mean—I was thinking of your wealth."
"My—what?" she exclaimed.
"Your wealth. Your brother told me."
"Oh! Gordon told you about my wealth? Would you mind telling me just what he said, Mr. Forbes?"
"Why, only that you and he had a couple of millions each. I didn't intend to pump him, Miss Burnett, and—"
"Don't apologize. I dare say he didn't require much encouragement. Gordon is very—communicative. Also very imaginative."
Wade looked at her hopefully.
"Imaginative? You mean that you aren't that wealthy?"
"Exactly. Gordon and I have enough to live on and that's about all. Aunt Mildred is putting him through school. I don't think he means to tell lies, exactly, but—but he romances."
"Then you're not rich!" Wade exclaimed.
"Not at all rich, Mr. Forbes."
"By Jove! That—that's great!"
"Well, really, I'm afraid I can't share your enthusiasm," she lauded. "Is it such a fortunate thing to be near-poor?"
"Yes—no—Look here, there was another thing he told me—" He stopped suddenly.
"Yes? You'd better tell me, for it was probably as imaginative as the story about the two millions."
"Well, please don't think me cheeky, but is there a chap named Smith?"
"I should say," responded Frue demurely, "that there might be several chaps of that name."
"But—Kingdon Smith?"
"Yes, there is. He is a friend. Just what did Gordon tell you about Mr. Smith?"
"He said that he thought that if you married anyone it would be Kingdon Smith, but that it wasn't definitely decided yet."
"It isn't," said Prue.
"Well—" But Wade reconsidered the remark. Instead, "I suppose he has plenty of money?" he asked. Prue nodded.
"I think so. Does his financial condition interest you?"
"Not especially," was the glum response.
"Because if it does," continued Prue, shooting a lightning glance from under her lashes, "Mr. Smith will be in Quebec in a day or two, and, if you cared to, you might stay over and confer with him personally."
"If I did stay I'd be more likely to throw him into the river," growled Wade.
"Poor Mr. Smith!" she laughed. "He would be so—so astounded at the treatment!"
"You say it isn't settled yet?"
"What?"
"That you're to marry him?"
"No, it isn't settled—yet."
"I suppose he's going to ask you for—for your answer when he comes?"
"Don't you think that perhaps you're a little bit— How shall I say it politely, Mr. Forbes?—a little bit inquisitorial?"
"Cheeky, I suppose you mean," he muttered. "Perhaps I am, but I've got to risk that. What I—"
"I believe you're rather fond of risks," she said thoughtfully.
"A man will risk anything if the prize is big enough. Look here, I wish you'd do something."
"Well?"
"Give me a chance. Hold that chap off for a week. You don't dislike me now, do you?"
"Dislike you? N-no. On the contrary, Mr. Forbes, I think you decidedly interesting and—breezy."
"You mean that I amuse you?"
"Something of the sort, I suppose."
"Well, that will do for a start. You don't dislike me; that's something. Give me a week and let me see if I can't make as good a showing as Smith. Will you?"
"You're absolutely absurd!" she laughed. "I haven't said that I intended marrying Mr. Smith."
"You shan't if I can prevent it," he answered grimly. "Will you give me my chance?"
"A whole week?" she asked mockingly. "I don't think you do yourself justice. I'm sure you don't really believe you need all that time."
He flushed.
"That means that you think me conceited. Well, perhaps I am. At least, I think I'm as good a man as Kingdon Smith." He turned with a new expression on his face. The frowns were gone and he smiled confidently. "He can't love you more than I do; no man could; certainly no man by the name of Smith. He may have more money than I have at present, but in ten years I'll be able to buy him and sell him. Not that I'm a beggar now; my partner and I divided a hundred and four thousand this year in profits. Perhaps he's better looking, more—polished, can talk better. But he can't do any more for you nor make you any happier than I can. If he's of good family, so am I. The Forbeses are one of the oldest families in New York state. He can't have anything on me there."
The girl's smiles were gone and she was gazing at him in a sort of wondering fascination, the color deepening each moment in her cheeks.
"I won't ask for a week. Miss Burnett. As you say, it's too long. I don't need it to win out from Smith." He looked at his watch. "It's seven twenty now. Give me until your train goes. That's all I'll ask. Will you give me that?"