Argosy, Vol. 1 (1882) — page 372: what you’re looking at

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

THE CHERRY PARASOL. an open parasol of flaming cherry that lay a few feet away on the ground where the fair and nervous owner had dropped it in her flight. That parasol! In defiance of all the scientists from Ben Franklin down, Miss Blithedale must needs import from the west a sunshade of the color which above all others reflected least the rays of that very orb. This she imperturbably carried, a shining mark for derisive jokes, or, per- haps, as an incentive to well born subal- tern bachelors in the arena of love, she the matador and they the quarry. “How penetrating you are!” was my sister’s ironical reply. ‘ Major, you are just in time. Miss Blithedale has just declared that she will not return to town without the escort of the whole garrison—or of Major Gallanton, per- haps.” The major looked almost pained at this allusion to the dead set that Miss Blithedale had been making at him to every one’s amusement. ‘“ And so,” my sister continued brisk- ly, “ you have had all your hunt for nothing! The royal quarry seems to know something about flank move- ments and strategy as well as your own gallant selves.” “ Really, I don’t understand, Miss Bradford,” said the puzzled soldier. ‘What is all this about escorts and flank movements! Ah, Miss Blithe- dale,” as that lady appeared, apparently nerved agaia to a welcome encounter with the major; “ this is a most charm- ing coincidence. But, explain, please, Miss Bradford.” Then my sister narrated as follows: The two ladies in question, bored to death at the absence of the only object of interest—the men—had decided on a little expedition of their own. They had hired one of the native “jaunting cars,” as we called them, with its zebu team and native driver, and stowing a luncheon hamper in the “boot,” had driven out before the noonday heat for the “ park.” IZA 363 Already in sight of the grove, they had been horrified to see the sudden ap- pearance of a great tiger, who stepped out from the undergrowth, beside the road, disclosing his superb proportions and brilliant coloring as he first gazed curiously toward them and then low- ered his head and began to stalk after them in long strides. Miss Blithedale uttered a terrific shriek; the driver, turning, saw the beast, and, wild with fear, first whipped up his bullocks and then incontinently fled into the jungle. Meanwhile, in the same moments, my sister had been equally appalled. But Belle is a girl of pretty strong nerves, as you may know, and though white with fear, she uttered no cry, but silently if wildly looked around for a Weapon. There was none, of course—but stay ! the cherry parasol ! She snatched it from the nerveless hands of her companion, opened it with a vicious snap and thrust it sheer into the face of the beast, who was no’ four feet away. At the same time she closed her eyes from sudden faintness, but recovering instantly, she looked again and—he was gone! She could just see the tail dis- appearing rapidly as he crawled among the leaves in dire fright. Without an instant’s hesitation, my sister sprang to the “ box,” whipped up the slow bulls, drove the few rods to the bungalow with Miss Blithedale clinging to her and alternately moaning and screeching, as we learned in pri- vate. That was five hours before; Miss Blithedale had absolutely refused to re- turn with the cowardly native driver who had arrived before them, and my sister had laughingly vowed that, in that case she would go back alone, ask- ing no better protection than the cherry parasol. “You -have revolutionized the tiger hunt for the future, Miss Bradford,” said the major, with his eyes full of admiration at the tale which my sister GOH GOOO SS CO