A Little Rebel | Page 4

sits buried in piles of notes, and with sheets of manuscript knee-deep
scattered around him, the warm glad sun is stealing; here and there, the
little rays are darting, lighting up a dusty corner here, a hidden heap of
books there. It is, as yet, early in the afternoon, and the riotous beams,
who are no respecter of persons, and who honor the righteous and the
ungodly alike, are playing merrily in this sombre chamber, given so
entirely up to science and its prosy ways, daring even now to dance
lightly on the professor's head, which has begun to grow a little bald.
"The golden sun, in splendor likest heav'n,"
is proving perhaps a little too much for the tired brain in the small room.
Either that, or the incessant noises in the street outside, which have now
been enriched by the strains of a broken-down street piano, causes him
to lay aside his pen and lean back in a weary attitude in his chair.
What a day it is! How warm! An hour ago he had delivered a brilliant
lecture on the everlasting Mammoth (a fresh specimen just arrived from
Siberia), and is now paying the penalty of greatness. He had done

well--he knew that--he had been interesting, that surest road to public
favor--he had been applauded to the echo; and now, worn out, tired in
mind and body, he is living over again his honest joy in his success.
In this life, however, it is not given us to be happy for long. A knock at
the professor's door brings him back to the present, and the knowledge
that the landlady--a stout, somewhat erratic person of fifty--is standing
on his threshold, a letter in her hand.
"For you, me dear," says she, very kindly, handing the letter to the
professor.
She is perhaps the one person of his acquaintance who has been able to
see through the professor's gravity and find him young.
"Thank you," says he. He takes the letter indifferently, opens it
languidly, and----Well, there isn't much languor after the perusal of it.
The professor sits up; literally this time slang is unknown to him; and
re-reads it. That girl has come! There can't be any doubt of it. He had
almost forgotten her existence during these past tranquil months, when
no word or hint about her reached him, but now, here she is at last,
descending upon him like a whirlwind.
A line in a stiff, uncompromising hand apprises the professor of the
unwelcome fact. The "line" is signed by "Jane Majendie," therefore
there can be no doubt of the genuineness of the news contained in it.
Yes! that girl has come!
The professor never swears, or he might now perhaps have given way
to reprehensible words.
Instead of that, he pulls himself together, and determines on immediate
action. To call upon this ward of his is a thing that must be done sooner
or later, then why not sooner? Why not at once? The more unpleasant
the duty, the more necessity to get it off one's mind without delay.
He pulls the bell. The landlady appears again.

"I must go out," says the professor, staring a little helplessly at her.
"An' a good thing too," says she. "A saint's day ye might call it, wid the
sun. An' where to, sir, dear? Not to thim rascally sthudents, I do
thrust?"
"No, Mrs. Mulcahy. I--I am going to see a young lady," says the
professor simply.
"The divil!" says Mrs. Mulcahy with a beaming smile. "Faix, that's a
turn the right way anyhow. But have ye thought o' yer clothes, me
dear?"
"Clothes?" repeats the professor vaguely.
"Arrah, wait," says she, and runs away lightly, in spite of her fifty years
and her too, too solid flesh, and presently returns with the professor's
best coat and a clothes brush that, from its appearance, might
reasonably be supposed to have been left behind by Noah when he
stepped out of the Ark. With this latter (having put the coat on him) she
proceeds to belabor the professor with great spirit, and presently sends
him forth shining--if not internally, at all events externally.
In truth the professor's mood is not a happy one. Sitting in the hansom
that is taking him all too swiftly to his destination, he dwells with terror
on the girl--the undesired ward--who has been thrust upon him. He has
quite made up his mind about her. An Australian girl! One knows what
to expect there! Health unlimited; strength tremendous; and
noise--much noise.
Yes, she is sure to be a big girl. A girl with branching limbs, and a
laugh you could hear a mile off. A young woman with no sense of the
fitness of things, and a settled conviction that nothing could shake, that