Cupids Understudy | Page 5

done for one;
you see, I was supposed to have lungs once, long ago. Now I'm as
sound as a dollar."
"He looks it, doesn't he, Elizabeth!"
If Dad hadn't been such a dear, I should have been annoyed by his
constant requests for my opinion where it was so obviously
unnecessary. But Dad is such a dear. To make it worse, Mr. Porter
seemed to consider that whether he was, or was not, as sound as a
dollar, depended entirely on my answer.
"One would think I was a sort of supreme court from the way Dad
refers all questions to me. But I warn you, Mr. Porter; my 'yes' or 'no'
makes little difference in his opinions."
"You are my supreme court, and they do," declared Dad.
"I'm sure they do," said Mr. Porter,
"When the novelty of having me with you has worn off, you'll be your
same old domineering self, Daddy dear."

"Domineering! Hear the minx! I'm a regular lamb, Porter. That reminds
me: When are you going to California!"
"I hadn't thought. That is, I had thought . . . That is, I've wished . . . I
mean I've wondered . . . I hope you won't think me presumptuous, Mr.
Middleton, but I've wondered if you'd allow me to go on the same train
with you and Miss Middleton."
"Why, my dear boy, we'd be delighted. Wouldn't we, Elizabeth!"
Mr. Porter turned to me. "You see, Miss Middleton, you are the
supreme court, after all," his lips said. But his eyes told me why he
wanted to go on the same train with Dad and me, told me plainer than
words. Perhaps I should have remembered I had never spoken to him
till that morning, but . . .
"The supreme court congratulates the inferior court on the wisdom of
its decision," I said, with an elaborate bow to Dad to hide my
confusion.
"It's settled!" cried Dad. "This is quite the nicest thing that ever
happened," said Mr. Porter. "If only you knew how grateful I am. I feel
like--like giving three cheers, and tossing my hat in the air."
"The inferior court rules against hat-tossing as irrelevant, immaterial,
and incompetent."
"Ruling sustained," I said.
"And they call this a free country!"
"The newspapers don't. Read the newspapers my boy."
"At any rate, I now belong to the privileged class. When do we leave,
Mr. Middleton?"
"Elizabeth says to-morrow. We go by rather a slow train."
"But why?" I began.

"Because, my dear, an all-wise Providence has decreed that express
trains shall not haul private cars."
"Oh, I say!" exclaimed Mr. Porter. "That makes all the difference in the
world."
"Only a day's difference."
"I mean . . ."
"You're going as our guest, you know."
"But really, Mr. Middleton, I never . . ."
"Don't be absurd, my boy."
"No," said Mr. Blakely Porter, "I won't be absurd. I shall be more than
glad to go as your guest."
"That's the way it should be. Isn't it, Elizabeth!"
"I didn't know you owned a private car, Dad."
"Pshaw!" said Dad. "What's a private car?"
I smiled at what I was pleased to term "Dad's magnificence," little
thinking I was soon to look on private cars as one of the most
delectable of modern inventions.
Chapter Five
Our train left Grand Central Station at two o'clock next afternoon; it
was bitter cold, I remember, and I drove to the station, smothered in
furs. But our car was wonderfully cozy and comfortable, and it warmed
my heart to see how proud Dad was of it: I must inspect the kitchen;
this was my stateroom, did I like it? I mustn't judge Amos by his
appearance, but the way he could cook--he was a wonder at making
griddle cakes. Did I still like griddle cakes? "And do look at the books
and magazines Mr. Porter brought. And a box of chocolates, too.

Wasn't it kind of him?" Dear Dad! He was like a child with a new toy.
I'm sure he enjoyed every minute of the trip. Mr. Porter played cribbage
with him (Dad adores cribbage) by the hour; they talked railroads, and
politics, and mining--I don't think Dad had been so happy in years. I
know I had never been so happy, for I was sure Mr. Porter loved me. I
couldn't help being sure; his heart was in his eyes every time he looked
at me.
When we started from New York, we were Mr. Middleton, and Mr.
Porter, and Miss Middleton to one another; at Chicago, it was Tom, and
Blakely, and Miss Middleton; I became Elizabeth in Utah (I made him
call me that. And when we reached Nevada . . .
It happened so naturally, so sweetly. Dad was taking a nap