The Argosy, Vol. 82, No. 3 — page 78: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

452 He kissed Mrs. Jangreaves and called her mother. Then he saw his own mother try- ing to smile at hearing him do it. And then— Eleanor’s Aunt Bessie bustled out of the kitchen with a leather case in her hands. Aunt Bessie was informal by nature. Of course she should have gone up to the “presents room” without a word, to add the last arrival to the rest. But she didn’t. “Well,” she cried, “here’s another pres- ent. Just look at all this gorgeousness! The parcels postman just brought it.” She found room for the case in a spot between the plates set for the breakfast on the sideboard. She opened it up. Arthur felt a sensation of deep disap- pointment. Before the next mail could ar- rive, he and Eleanor would be aboard the train for New York to catch their boat for Portland. “Spoons galore!” laughed Aunt Bessie. ““A whole dozen of each size. Enough to put a silver spoon into the mouth of each of your children and children’s children unto the third and fourth generation. I didn’t know there were so many kinds of spoons. It’s from—”’ But Arthur was already staring at the engraving on the card that lay upon the pink satin of the case’s lining. The card, the room, the world seemed to whirl about his giddy head. Before her own name his employer’s wife had written ‘“‘Mr. and” to make the card read Mr. & Mrs. Joseph Morrison. Spoons! If. THE BONDS OF MATRIMONY. * CORRY, old man, I can’t stay for the eats. I’ve got to be going.” Bob Whitlock was holding out his hand. Arthur took it dumbly. Vaguely at first his senses registered that the hand was cold and shaking perceptibly. It was not the first time Arthur had got the vague impression that Bob was dis- tinctly nervous this morning. And— “Great Scott!” the bridegroom groaned inwardly, as his eye went back to that beautiful set of spoons—‘“‘what’s he got to worry about?” At that moment it seemed absurd to Ar- thur Bannock that any one else in the world should do any worrying. He had all the THE ARGOSY. grounds there were’ for worrying. There could hardly be any left. And Bob was still single. Single! Oh, the bliss of it! Fifteen minutes ago Arthur had been single. Now he was married. And he had married with the expectation of a two thousand dollar present; and the present had been some fifty dollars’ worth of spoons. Married to a woman who was a splendid school-teacher, who had never lived in a house where there wasn’t at least one serv- ant, whose knowledge of housekeeping began and ended with making fudge or Welsh rabbit in a chafing dish and perco- lated coffee to wash it down! Married and tied up with a house that would cost him not less than fifty-five dol- lars a month to hold, not to mention the piano and the sideboard he had taken on instalments when Eleanor’s furniture money ran out. Eighty dollars of his monthly hundred and fifteen nicely, snugly contracted for! Thirty-five a month left to keep the house and buy coal in winter and ice in summer and meat and potatoes and bread and but- ter and car-fares and lunches and clothes, to pay a servant and for washing and laun- dry and a woman’s hats and dresses and— Bob looked worried and murmured con- gratulations, as he hurried out to his nifty little runabout! Bob worried! Congratu- lations! Yes, Arthur wished he could get away up-stairs in the attic or somewhere, where he could adequately express to himself how big a fool he knew he had been. To have done all this on the strength of Morrison’s present to another man! It showed what being in love would do to a normally fairly average human intelligence. Only, expressing it wouldn’t help it a bit. Nothing can bring back the last minute to any man, or what he did in it. It is recorded that the Almighty once stretched a day to enable the armies of His chosen people to finish a job; but He never yet gave back to any man a past minute to undo or do over again. The time for Arthur Bannock to save himself from the irrevocable plunge into an impossible situation was fifteen minutes past. It’s a great thought, that nothing, not even God Himself, can change the past. Sometimes great thoughts are very comfort- ing—and then again, sometimes they aren’t. Go DOO AUG S (C@)