University of Virginia Library

28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
MR. BRADSHAW CALLS ON MISS BADLAM.

“IS Miss Hazard in, Kitty?”

“Indade she 's in, Mr. Bridshaw, but she won't see
nobody.”

“What 's the meaning of that, Kitty? Here is the third
time within three days you 've told me I could n't see
her. She saw Mr. Gridley yesterday, I know; why won't
she see me to-day?”

“Y' must ask Miss Myrtle what the rason is, — it 's
none o' my business, Mr. Bridshaw. That 's the order she
give me.”

“Is Miss Badlam in?”

“Indade she 's in, Mr. Bridshaw, an' I 'll go cahl her.”

“Bedad,” said Kitty Fagan to herself, “the cat an' the
fox is goin' to have another o' thim big tahks togither, an'
sure the old hole for the stove-pipe has niver been stopped
up yet.”

Mr. Bradshaw and Miss Cynthia went into the parlor
together, and Mistress Kitty retired to her kitchen.
There was a deep closet belonging to this apartment, separated
by a partition from the parlor. There was a round
hole high up in this partition through which a stove-pipe
had once passed. Mistress Kitty placed a stool just under
this opening, upon which, as on a pedestal, she posed herself
with great precaution in the attitude of the goddess of
other people's secrets, that is to say, with her head a little
on one side, so as to bring her liveliest ear close to the

opening. The conversation which took place in the hearing
of the invisible third party began in a singularly free-and-easy
manner on Mr. Bradshaw's part.

“What the d is the reason I can't see Myrtle, Cynthia?”

“That 's more than I can tell you, Mr. Bradshaw. I
can watch her goings on, but I can't account for her tantrums.”

“You say she has had some of her old nervous whims,
— has the doctor been to see her?”

“No indeed. She has kept to herself a good deal, but
I don't think there 's anything in particular the matter with
her. She looks well enough, only she seems a little queer,
— as girls do that have taken a fancy into their heads that
they 're in love, you know, — absent-minded, — does n't
seem to be interested in things as you would expect after
being away so long.”

Mr. Bradshaw looked as if this did not please him particularly.
If he was the object of her thoughts she would
not avoid him, surely.

“Have you kept your eye on her steadily?”

“I don't believe there is an hour we can't account for, —
Kitty and I between us.”

“Are you sure you can depend on Kitty?”

[“Depind on Kitty, is it? O, an' to be sure ye can depind
on Kitty to kape watch at the stove-pipe hole, an' to
tell all y'r plottin's an' contrivin's to them that 'll get the
cheese out o' y'r mousetrap for ye before ye catch any poor
cratur in it.” This was the inaudible comment of the unseen
third party.]

“Of course I can depend on her as far as I trust her.
All she knows is that she must look out for the girl to see
that she does not run away or do herself a mischief. The

Biddies don't know much, but they know enough to keep a
watch on the —”

“Chickens.” Mr. Bradshaw playfully finished the sentence
for Miss Cynthia.

[“An' on the foxes, an' the cats, an' the wazels, an' the
hen-hahks, an' ahl the other bastes,” added the invisible
witness, in unheard soliloquy.]

“I ain't sure whether she 's quite as stupid as she looks,”
said the suspicious young lawyer. “There 's a little cunning
twinkle in her eye sometimes that makes me think
she might be up to a trick on occasion. Does she ever
listen about to hear what people are saying?”

“Don't trouble yourself about Kitty Fagan, for pity's
sake, Mr. Bradshaw. The Biddies are all alike, and
they 're all as stupid as owls, except when you tell 'em
just what to do, and how to do it. A pack of priest-ridden
fools!”

The hot Celtic blood in Kitty Fagan's heart gave a leap.
The stout muscles gave an involuntary jerk. The substantial
frame felt the thrill all through, and the rickety
stool on which she was standing creaked sharply under its
burden.

Murray Bradshaw started. He got up and opened
softly all the doors leading from the room, one after
another, and looked out.

“I thought I heard a noise as if somebody was moving,
Cynthia. It 's just as well to keep our own matters to ourselves.”

“If you wait till this old house keeps still, Mr. Bradshaw,
you might as well wait till the river has run by.
It 's as full of rats and mice as an old cheese is of mites.
There 's a hundred old rats in this house, and that 's what
you hear.”

[“An' one old cat; that 's what I hear.” Third party.]

“I told you, Cynthia, I must be off on this business to-morrow.
I want to know that everything is safe before I
go. And, besides, I have got something to say to you
that 's important, — very important, mind you.”

He got up once more and opened every door softly and
looked out. He fixed his eye suspiciously on a large sofa
at the other side of the room, and went, looking half
ashamed of his extreme precaution, and peeped under it,
to see if there was any one hidden there to listen. Then
he came back and drew his chair close up to the table at
which Miss Badlam had seated herself. The conversation
which followed was in a low tone, and a portion of it must
be given in another place in the words of the third party.
The beginning of it we are able to supply in this connection.

“Look here, Cynthia; you know what I am going for.
It 's all right, I feel sure, for I have had private means of
finding out. It 's a sure thing; but I must go once more
to see that the other fellows don't try any trick on us. You
understand what is for my advantage is for yours, and, if I
go wrong, you go overboard with me. Now I must leave
the — you know — behind me. I can't leave it in the
house or the office: they might burn up. I won't have it
about me when I am travelling. Draw your chair a little
more this way. Now listen.”

[“Indade I will,” said the third party to herself. The
reader will find out in due time whether she listened to
any purpose or not.]

In the mean time Myrtle, who for some reason was
rather nervous and restless, had found a pair of half-finished

slippers which she had left behind her. The color
came into her cheeks when she remembered the state of
mind she was in when she was working on them for the
Rev. Mr. Stoker. She recollected Master Gridley's mistake
about their destination, and determined to follow the
hint he had given. It would please him better if she sent
them to good Father Pemberton, she felt sure, than if he
should get them himself. So she enlarged them somewhat,
(for the old man did not pinch his feet, as the younger
clergyman was in the habit of doing, and was, besides, of
portly dimensions, as the old orthodox three-deckers were
apt to be,) and worked E. P. very handsomely into the
pattern, and sent them to him with her love and respect,
to his great delight; for old ministers do not have quite so
many tokens of affection from fair hands as younger ones.

What made Myrtle nervous and restless? Why had
she quitted the city so abruptly, and fled to her old home,
leaving all the gayeties behind her which had so attracted
and dazzled her?

She had not betrayed herself at the third meeting with
the young man who stood in such an extraordinary relation
to her, — who had actually given her life from his
own breath, — as when she met him for the second time.
Whether his introduction to her at the party, just at the
instant when Murray Bradshaw was about to make a declaration,
saved her from being in another moment the
promised bride of that young gentleman, or not, we will
not be so rash as to say. It looked, certainly, as if he
was in a fair way to carry his point; but perhaps she
would have hesitated, or shrunk back, when the great
question came to stare her in the face.

She was excited, at any rate, by the conversation, so

that, when Clement was presented to her, her thoughts
could not at once be all called away from her other admirer,
and she was saved from all danger of that sudden disturbance
which had followed their second meeting. Whatever
impression he made upon her developed itself gradually, —
still, she felt strangely drawn towards him. It was not
simply in his good looks, in his good manners, in his conversation,
that she found this attraction, but there was a
singular fascination which she felt might be dangerous to
her peace, without explaining it to herself in words. She
could hardly be in love with this young artist; she knew
that his affections were plighted to another, — a fact which
keeps most young women from indulging unruly fancies;
yet her mind was possessed by his image to such an extent
that it left little room for that of Mr. William Murray
Bradshaw.

Myrtle Hazard had been just ready to enter on a career
of worldly vanity and ambition. It is hard to blame her,
for we know how she came by the tendency. She had
every quality, too, which fitted her to shine in the gay
world; and the general law is, that those who have the
power have the instinct to use it. We do not suppose that
the bracelet on her arm was an amulet, but it was a symbol.
It reminded her of her descent; it kept alive the
desire to live over the joys and excitements of a bygone
generation. If she had accepted Murray Bradshaw, she
would have pledged herself to a worldly life. If she had
refused him, it would perhaps have given her a taste of
power that might have turned her into a coquette. This
new impression saved her for the time. She had come
back to her nest in the village like a frightened bird; her
heart was throbbing, her nerves were thrilling, her dreams

were agitated; she wanted to be quiet, and could not listen
to the flatteries or entreaties of her old lover.

It was a strong will and a subtle intellect that had
arrayed their force and skill against the ill-defended citadel
of Myrtle's heart. Murray Bradshaw was perfectly determined,
and not to be kept back by any trivial hindrances,
such as her present unwillingness to accept him, or even
her repugnance to him, if a freak of the moment had carried
her so far. It was a settled thing: Myrtle Hazard
must become Mrs. Bradshaw; and nobody could deny that,
if he gave her his name, they had a chance, at least, for a
brilliant future.