A Fool For Love | Page 5

emphasis;
whereupon the talk drifted eastward to Boston, and Winton was
ignored until Virginia, having exhausted the reminiscent vein, said,
"You are going on through to Denver?"
"To Denver and beyond," was the reply. "Winton has a notion of
hibernating in the mountains--fancy it; in the dead of winter!--and he
has persuaded me to go along. He sketches a little, you know."
"Oh, so he is an artist?" said Virginia, with interest newly aroused.
"No," said Adams gloomily, "he isn't an artist--isn't much of anything,
I'm sorry to say. Worse than all, he doesn't know his grandfather's

middle name. Told me so himself."
"That is inexcusable--in a dilettante," said Miss Virginia mockingly.
"Don't you think so?"
"It is inexcusable in anyone," said the Technologian, rising to take his
leave. Then, as a parting word: "Does the Rosemary set its own table?
or do you dine in the dining-car?"
"In the dining-car, if we have one. Uncle Somerville lets us dodge the
Rosemary's cook whenever we can," was the answer; and with this bit
of information Adams went his way to the Denver sleeper.
Finding Winton in his section, poring over a blue-print map and
making notes thereon after the manner of a man hard at work, Adams
turned back to the smoking-compartment.
Now for Mr. Morton P. Adams the salt of life was a joke, harmless or
otherwise, as the tree might fall. So, during the long afternoon which he
wore out in solitude, there grew up in him a keen desire to see what
would befall if these two whom he had so grotesquely misrepresented
each to the other should come together in the pathway of
acquaintanceship.
But how to bring them together was a problem which refused to be
solved until chance pointed the way. Since the Limited had lost another
hour during the day there was a rush for the dining-car as soon as the
announcement of its taking-on had gone through the train. Adams and
Winton were of this rush, and so were the members of Mr. Somerville
Darrah's party. In the seating the party was separated, as room at the
crowded tables could be found; and Miss Virginia's fate gave her the
unoccupied seat at one of the duet tables, opposite a young man with
steadfast gray eyes and a firm jaw.
Winton was equal to the emergency, or thought he was. Adams was
still within call and he beckoned him, meaning to propose an exchange
of seats. But the Bostonian misunderstood wilfully.

"Most happy, I'm sure," he said, coming instantly to the rescue. "Miss
Carteret, my friend signals his dilemma. May I present him?"
Virginia smiled and gave the required permission in a word. But for
Winton self-possession fled shrieking.
"Ah--er--I hope you know Mr. Adams well enough to make allowances
for his--for his--" He broke down helplessly and she had to come to his
assistance.
"For his imagination?" she suggested. "I do, indeed; we are quite old
friends."
Here was "well enough," but Winton was a man and could not let it
alone.
"I should be very sorry to have you think for a moment that I
would--er--so far forget myself," he went on fatuously. "What I had in
mind was an exchange of seats with him. I thought it would be
pleasanter for you; that is, I mean, pleasanter for--" He stopped short,
seeing nothing but a more hopeless involvement ahead; also because he
saw signals of distress or of mirth flying in the brown eyes.
"Oh, please!" she protested in mock humility. "Do leave my vanity just
the tiniest little cranny to creep out of, Mr. Winton. I'll promise to be
good and not bore you too desperately."
At this, as you would imagine, the pit of utter self-abasement yawned
for Winton, and he plunged headlong, holding the bill of fare wrong
side up when the waiter asked for his dinner order, and otherwise
demeaning himself like a man taken at a hopeless disadvantage. She
took pity on him.
"But let's ignore Mr. Adams," she went on sweetly. "I am much more
interested in this," touching the bill of fare. "Will you order for me,
please? I like--"
When she had finished the list of her likings, Winton was able to smile

at his lapse into the primitive, and gave the dinner order for two with a
fair degree of coherence. After that they got on better. Winton knew
Boston, and, next to the weather, Boston was the safest and most
fruitful of the commonplaces. Nevertheless, it was not immortal; and
Winton was just beginning to cast about for some other safe riding road
for the shallop of small talk when Miss Carteret sent it adrift with
malice aforethought.
It was somewhere between the entrees and the fruit, and the point of
departure was