The Man on the Box | Page 5

of Domestic
Felicity. Her brother has never ceased to be among the first in her dear
regard. He possessed the merriest black eyes: his mother's eyes, as I, a
boy, remember them. No matter how immobile his features might be,
these eyes of his were ever ready for laughter. His nose was clean-cut
and shapely. A phrenologist would have said that his head did not lack
the bump of caution; but I know better. At present he wore a beard; so
this is as large an inventory of his personal attractions as I am able to
give. When he shaves off his beard, I shall be pleased to add further
particulars. I often marvel that the women did not turn his head. They
were always sending him notes and invitations and cutting dances for
him. Perhaps his devil- may-care air had something to do with the
enchantment. I have yet to see his equal as a horseman. He would have
made it interesting for that pair of milk-whites which our old friend,
Ulysses (or was it Diomedes?) had such ado about.
Every man has some vice or other, even if it is only being good.
Warburton had perhaps two: poker and tobacco. He would get out of
bed at any hour if some congenial spirit knocked at the door and
whispered that a little game was in progress, and that his money was
needed to keep it going. I dare say that you know all about these little
games. But what would you? What is a man to do in a country where
you may buy a whole village for ten dollars? Warburton seldom drank,
and, like the author of this precious volume, only special vintages.
At this particular moment this hero of mine was going over the
monotony of the old days in Arizona, the sand-deserts, the unlovely
landscapes, the dull routine, the indifferent skirmishes with cattle- men
and Indians; the pagan bullet which had plowed through his leg. And
now it was all over; he had surrendered his straps; he was a private
citizen, with an income sufficient for his needs. It will go a long way,
forty-five hundred a year, if one does not attempt to cover the distance
in a five-thousand motor-car; and he hated all locomotion that was not
horse-flesh.

For nine months he had been wandering over Europe, if not happy, at
least in a satisfied frame of mind. Four of these months had been
delightfully passed in Paris; and, as his nomad excursions had
invariably terminated in that queen of cities, I make Paris the starting
point of his somewhat remarkable adventures. Besides, it was in Paris
that he first saw Her. And now, here he was at last, homeward-bound.
That phrase had a mighty pleasant sound; it was to the ear what honey
is to the tongue. Still, he might yet have been in Paris but for one thing:
She was on board this very boat.
Suddenly his eyes opened full wide, bright with eagerness.
"It is She!" he murmured. He closed his eyes again, the hypocrite!
Permit me to introduce you to my heroine. Mind you, she is not my
creation; only Heaven may produce her like, and but once. She is well
worth turning around to gaze at. Indeed I know more than one fine
gentleman who forgot the time of day, the important engagement, or
the trend of his thought, when she passed by.
She was coming forward, leaning against the wind and inclining to the
uncertain roll of the ship. A gray raincoat fitted snugly the youthful
rounded figure. Her hands were plunged into the pockets. You may be
sure that Mr. Robert noted through his half-closed eyelids these
inconsequent details. A tourist hat sat jauntily on the fine light brown
hair, that color which has no appropriate metaphor. (At least, I have
never found one, and I am not in love with her and never was.)
Warburton has described to me her eyes, so I am positive that they
were as heavenly blue as a rajah's sapphire. Her height is of no moment.
What man ever troubled himself about the height of a woman, so long
as he wasn't undersized himself? What pleased Warburton was the
exquisite skin. He was always happy with his comparisons, and
particularly when he likened her skin to the bloomy olive pallor of a
young peach. The independent stride was distinguishingly American.
Ah, the charm of these women who are my countrywomen! They come,
they go, alone, unattended, courageous without being bold, self-reliant
without being rude; inimitable. In what an amiable frame of mind
Nature must have been on the day she cast these molds! But I proceed.

The young woman's chin was tilted, and Warburton could tell by the
dilated nostrils that she