A Woman Intervenes | Page 4

I told you I would let you off for five hundred
dollars.'
The editor looked at her for a moment, and seemed to reflect that
perhaps it was better not to give a young lady unlimited credit in New
York. So he said:
'Wait a bit; I'll write you out the order, and you can take it downstairs.'
Miss Jennie took the paper when it was offered to her, and disappeared.
When she presented the order in the business office, the cashier raised
his eyebrows as he noticed the amount, and, with a low whistle, said to
himself:
'Five hundred dollars! I wonder what game Jennie Brewster's up to
now.'

CHAPTER II.

The last bell had rung. Those who were going ashore had taken their
departure. Crowds of human beings clustered on the pier-head, and at
the large doorways of the warehouse which stood open on the steamer
wharf. As the big ship slowly backed out there was a fluttering of
handkerchiefs from the mass on the pier, and an answering flutter from
those who crowded along the bulwarks of the steamer. The tug slowly
pulled the prow of the vessel round, and at last the engines of the
steamship began their pulsating throbs--throbs that would vibrate night
and day until the steamer reached an older civilization. The crowd on
the pier became more and more indistinct to those on board, and many
of the passengers went below, for the air was bitterly cold, and the boat
was forcing its way down the bay among huge blocks of ice.
Two, at least, of the passengers had taken little interest in the departure.
They were leaving no friends behind them, and were both setting their
faces toward friends at home.
'Let us go down,' said Wentworth to Kenyon, 'and see that we get seats
together at table before all are taken.'
'Very good,' replied his companion, and they descended to the roomy
saloon, where two long tables were already laid with an ostentatious
display of silver, glassware, and cutlery, which made many, who
looked on this wilderness of white linen with something like dismay,
hope that the voyage would be smooth, although, as it was a winter
passage, there was every chance it would not be. The purser and two of
his assistants sat at one of the shorter tables with a plan before them,
marking off the names of passengers who wished to be together, or who
wanted some particular place at any of the tables. The smaller
side-tables were still uncovered because the number of passengers at
that season of the year was comparatively few. As the places were
assigned, one of the helpers to the purser wrote the names of the
passengers on small cards, and the other put the cards on the tables.
One young woman, in a beautifully-fitting travelling gown, which was
evidently of the newest cut and design, stood a little apart from the
general group which surrounded the purser and his assistants. She
eagerly scanned every face, and listened attentively to the names given.

Sometimes a shade of disappointment crossed her brow, as if she
expected some particular person to possess some particular name which
that particular person did not bear. At last her eyes sparkled.
'My name is Wentworth,' said the young man whose turn it was.
'Ah! any favourite place, Mr. Wentworth?' asked the purser blandly, as
if he had known Wentworth all his life.
'No, we don't care where we sit; but my friend Mr. Kenyon and myself
would like places together.'
'Very good; you had better come to my table,' replied the purser.
'Numbers 23 and 24--Mr. Kenyon and Mr. Wentworth.'
The steward took the cards that were given him, and placed them to
correspond with the numbers the purser had named. Then the young
woman moved gracefully along, as if she were interested in the names
upon the table. She looked at Wentworth's name for a moment, and saw
in the place next to his the name of Mr. Brown. She gave a quick,
apprehensive glance around the saloon, and observed the two young
men who had arranged for their seats at table now walking leisurely
toward the companion-way. She took the card with the name of Mr.
Brown upon it, and slipped upon the table another on which were
written the words 'Miss Jennie Brewster.' Mr. Brown's card she placed
on the spot from which she had taken her own.
'I hope Mr. Brown is not particular which place he occupies,' said
Jennie to herself; 'but at any rate I shall see that I am early for dinner,
and I'm sure Mr. Brown, whoever he is, will not be so ungallant as to
insist on having this place if he knows his card was here.'
Subsequent events proved her