The Fifth Wheel | Page 4

"Not too fast, Ruth, not too fast!" anxious Alec had cautioned.
"For the love o' Mike! Hully G!" had ejaculated Oliver and Malcolm,
examining the card.
"O Ruth, tell us about it," my sister Lucy in awed tones had exclaimed.
I shrugged. "There's nothing to tell," I said. "I met Mr. Sewall at a tea
not long ago, as one is apt to meet people at teas, that's all."
Edith from the head of the table, sparkling, too joyous even to attempt
her soup, had sung out, "I'm proud of you, rascal! You're a wonder, you
are! Listen, people, little sister here is going to do something splendid
one of these days--she is!"
CHAPTER II
BRECKENRIDGE SEWALL
When I was a little girl, Idlewold, the estate of Mrs. Leonard Jackson
where I first met Breckenridge Sewall, was a region of rough pasture
lands. Thither we children used to go forth on Saturday afternoons on
marauding expeditions. It was covered in those days with a network of
mysteriously winding cow-paths leading from shadow into sunshine,
from dark groves through underbrush and berry-bushes to bubbling
brooks. Many a thrilling adventure did I pursue with my brothers
through those alluring paths, never knowing what treasure or surprise
lay around the next curve. Sometimes it would be a cave appearing in
the dense growth of wild grape and blackberry vines; sometimes a
woodchuck's hole; a snake sunning himself; a branch of black
thimble-berries; a baby calf beside its mother, possibly; or perhaps
even a wild rabbit or partridge.

Mrs. Leonard Jackson's elaborate brick mansion stood where more than
once bands of young vandals were guilty of stealing an ear or two of
corn for roasting purposes, to be blackened over a forbidden fire in the
corner of an old stone wall; and her famous wistaria-and-grape arbor
followed for nearly a quarter of a mile the wandering path laid out
years ago by cows on their way to water. What I discovered around one
of the curves of that path the day of Mrs. Jackson's garden tea was as
thrilling as anything I had ever chanced upon as a little girl. It was Mr.
Breckenridge Sewall sitting on the corner of a rustic seat smoking a
cigarette!
I had seen Mr. Sewall enter that arbor at the end near the house, a long
way off beyond lawns and flower beds. I was standing at the time with
a fragrant cup of tea in my hand beside the wistaria arch that forms the
entrance of the arbor near the orchard. I happened to be alone for a
moment. I finished my tea without haste, and then placing the cup and
saucer on a cedar table near-by, I decided it would be pleasant to
escape for a little while the chatter and conversation of the two or three
dozen women and a handful of men. Unobserved I strolled down
underneath the grape-vines.
I walked leisurely along the sun-dappled path, stopped a moment to
reach up and pick a solitary, late wistaria blossom, and then went on
again smiling a little to myself and wondering just what my plan was. I
know now that I intended to waylay Breckenridge Sewall. His attitude
toward Hilton had had somewhat the same effect upon me as the No
Trespassing and Keep Off signs when I was younger. However, I hadn't
gone very far when I lost my superb courage. A little path branching
off at the right offered me an opportunity for escape. I took it, and a
moment later fell to berating myself for not having been bolder and
played my game to a finish. My impulses always fluctuate and flicker
for a moment or two before they settle down to a steady resolve.
I did not think that Mr. Sewall had had time to reach the little path, or if
so, it did not occur to me that he would select it. It was grass-grown
and quite indistinct. So my surprise was not feigned when, coming
around a curve, I saw him seated on a rustic bench immediately in front

of me. It would have been awkward if I had exclaimed, "Oh!" and
turned around and run away. Besides, when I saw Breckenridge Sewall
sitting there before me and myself complete mistress of the situation, it
appeared almost like a duty to play my cards as well as I knew how. I
had been brought up to take advantage of opportunities, remember.
I glanced at the occupied bench impersonally, and then coolly strolled
on toward it as if there was no one there. Mr. Sewall got up as I
approached.
"Don't rise," I said, and then as if I had dismissed all thought of him, I
turned away and fell to contemplating the panorama of stream and
meadow. Mr. Sewall could