Excuse Me!

by Rupert Hughes

  CHAPTER XXXIV

  THE COMPLETE DIVORCER

  The other passengers were growing nervous with their own troubles. Thenext stop was Reno, and in spite of all the wit that is heaped uponthe town, it is a solemn place to those who must go there inpurgatorial penance for matrimonial error.

  Some honest souls regard such divorce-emporiums as dens of evil, wherethe wicked make a mockery of the sacrament and assail the foundationsof society, by undermining the home. Other equally honest souls,believing that marriage is a human institution whose mishaps andmistakes should be rectified as far as possible, regard the divorcecourts as cities of refuge for ill-treated or ill-mated women and menwhose lives may be saved from utter ruination by the intervention ofhigh-minded judges.

  But, whichever view is right, the ordeal by divorce is terrifyingenough to the poor sinners or martyrs who must undergo it.

  Little Jimmie Wellington turned pale, and stammered, as he tried toask the conductor casually:

  "What kind of a place is that Reno?"

  The conductor, somewhat cynical from close association with thedivorce-mill and its grist, grinned: "That depends on what you'releaving behind. Most folks seem to get enough of it in about sixmonths."

  Then he went his way, leaving Wellington red, agape and perplexed. Thetrouble with Wellington was that he had brought along what he wasleaving behind. Or, as Ashton impudently observed: "You ought to enjoyyour residence there, Wellington, with your wife on hand."

  The only repartee that Wellington could think of was a ratheruninspired: "You go to ----."

  "So long as it isn't Reno," Ashton laughed, and walked away.

  Wedgewood laid a sympathetic hand on Little Jimmie's shoulder, andsaid:

  "That Ashton is no end of a bounder, what?"

  Wellington wrote his epitaph in these words:

  "Well, the worst I can say of him is, he's the kind of man thatdoesn't lift the plug out when he's through with the basin."

  He liked this so well that he wished he had thought of it in time tocrack it over Ashton's head. He decided to hand it to him anyway. Heforgot that the cardinal rule for repartee, is "Better never thanlate."

  As he swung out of the men's room he was buttonholed by an individualnew to the little Trans-American colony. One of the camp-followers andsutlers who prosper round the edges of all great enterprises hadwaylaid him on the way to the battleground of marital freedom.

  The stranger had got on at an earlier stop and worked his way throughthe train to the car named "Snowdrop." Wellington was his first victimhere. His pushing manner, the almost vulture-like rapacity of hisgleaming eyes, and the very vulturine contour of his profile, hispalmy gestures, his thick lisp, and everything about him gaveWellington his immediate pedigree.

  It ill behooves Christendom to need reminding that the Jewish race hasadorned and still adorns humanity with some of its noblest specimens;but this interloper was of the type that must have irritated Voltaireinto answering the platitude that the Jews are God's chosen peoplewith that other platitude, "Tastes differ."

  Little Jimmie Wellington, hot in pursuit of Ashton, found himselfchecked in spite of himself; in spite of himself deposited somehowinto a seat, and in spite of himself confronted with a curvilinearperson, who said:

  "Excoose, pleass! but are you gettink off at R-r-reno?"

  "I am," Wellington answered, curtly, essaying to rise, only to bedelicately restored to his place with a gesture and a phrase:

  "Then you neet me."

  "Oh, I need you, do I? And who are you?"

  "Who ain't I? I am Baumann and Blumen. Our cart, pleass."

  Wellington found a pasteboard in his hand and read the legend:

  Real Estate Agents. Baggage Transfer.

  Baumann & Blumen

  DIVORCE OUTFITTERS,

  212 Alimony Avenue, Reno, Nev.

  Notary Public. Divorces Secured. Justice of the Peace. Satisfaction Guaranteed.

  Wellington looked from the crowded card to the zealous face. "DivorceOutfitters, eh? I don't quite get you."

  "Vell, in the foist place----"

  "'The foist place,' eh? You're from New York."

  "Yes, oritchinally. How did you know it? By my feshionable clothink?"

  "Yes," laughed Wellington. "But you say I need you. How?"

  "Vell, you've got maybe some beggetch, some trunks--yes?"

  "Yes."

  "Vell, in the foist place, I am an expressman. I deliver 'em to youraddress--yes? Vere iss it?"

  "I haven't got any yet."

  "Also I am addressman. Do you vant it a nice hotel?--or a finehouse?--or an apartment?--or maybe a boarding-house?--yes? How long doyou make a residence?"

  "Six months."

  "No longer?"

  "Not a minute."

  "Take a fine house, den. I got some beauties just wacated."

  "For a year?--no thanks."

  "All the leases in Reno run for six months only."

  "Well, I'd like to look around a little first."

  "Good. Don't forget us. You come out here for six months. You vantmaybe a good quick divorce--yes?"

  "The quickest I can get."

  "Do you vant it confidential? or very nice and noisy?"

  "What's that?"

  "Ve are press agents and also suppress agents. Some likes 'em one way,some likes 'em anudder. Vich do you vant it?"

  "Quick and quiet."

  "Painless divorce is our specialty. If you pay me an advence depositnow, I file your claim de minute de train stops and your own vifedon't know you're divorced."

  "I'll think it over," said Wellington, rising with resolution.

  "Don't forget us. Baumann and Blumen. Satisfaction guaranteed or yourwife refunded. Avoid substitoots." And then, seeing that he could notextract any cash from Little Jimmie, Mr. Baumann descended uponMallory, who was just finishing his shave. Laying his hand onMallory's arm, he began:

  "Excoose, pleass. Can I fit you out vit a nice divorce?"

  "Divorce?--me!--that's good," laughed Mallory at the vision of it.Then a sudden idea struck him. It took no great genius to see that Mr.Baumann was not a clergyman, but there were other marriers to be had."You don't perform marriages, do you?" he asked.

  Mr. Baumann drew himself up: "Who says I don't? Ain't I a justice ofthe peaces?"

  Mallory put out his hand in welcome: then a new anxiety chilled him.He had a license for Chicago, but Chicago was far away: "Do I need alicense in Nevada?"

  "Why shouldn't you?" said Mr. Baumann. "Don't all sorts of things gotto have a license in Nevada, saloons, husbands, dogs----"

  "How could I get one?" Mallory asked as he went on dressing.

  "Ain't I got a few vit me? Do you vant to get a nice re-marriagelicense?"

  "Re-marriage?--huh!" he looked round and, seeing that no one else wasnear: "I haven't taken the first step yet."

  Mr. Baumann layed his hands in one another: "A betchelor? Ah, I seeyou vant to marry a nice divorcee lady in R-r-reno?"

  "She isn't in Reno and she has never been married, either."

  This simple statement seemed to astound Mr. Baumann:

  "A betcheller marry a maiden!--in Reno!--oi, oi, oi! It hasn't beendone yet, but it might be."

  Mallory looked him over and a twinge of distaste disturbed him: "Youfurnish the license, but--er--ah--is there any chance of aclergyman--a Christian clergyman--being at the station?"

  "Vy do you vant it a cloigyman? Can't I do it just as good? Or a nicefat alderman I can get you?"

  Mallory pondered: "I don't think she'd like anything but a clergyman."

  "Vell," Baumann confessed, "a lady is liable to be particular abouther foist marriage. Anyvay I sell you de license."

  "All right."

  Mr. Baumann whipped out a portfolio full of documents, and as hesearched them, philosophized: "A man ought alvays to carry a goodmarriage license. It might b
e he should need it in a hurry." He tooka large iron seal from his side-pocket and stamped the paper and then,with fountain pen poised, pleaded: "Vat is the names, pleass?"

  "Not so loud!" Mallory whispered.

  Baumann put his finger to his nose, wisely: "I see, it is aconfidential marriage. Sit down once."

  When he had asked Mallory the necessary questions and taken his fee,he passed over the document by which the sovereign state of Nevadagraciously permitted two souls to be made more or less one in the eyesof the law.

  "Here you are," said Mr. Baumann. "Vit dat you can get married anyverein Nevada."

  Mallory realized that Nevada would be a thing of the past in a fewhours more and he asked:

  "It's no good in California?"

  "Himmel, no. In California you bot' gotta go and be examined."

  "Examined!" Mallory gasped, in dire alarm.

  "Vit questions, poissonally," Mr. Baumann hastened to explain.

  "Oh!"

  "In Nevada," Baumann insinuated, still hopeful, "I could marry youmyself--now, right here."

  "Could you marry us in this smoking room?"

  "In a cattle car, if you vant it."

  "It's not a bad idea," said Mallory. "I'll let you know."

  Seeing Marjorie coming down the aisle, he hastened to her, and huggedher good-morning with a new confidence.

  Dr. and Mrs. Temple, who had returned to their berth, witnessed thisgreeting with amazement. After the quarrel of the night before surelysome explanation should have been overheard, but the puzzling Mallorysflew to each other's arms without a moment's delay. The mystery wasexciting the passengers to such a point that they were vowing to ask afew questions point blank. Nobody had quite dared to approach eitherof them, but frank curiosity was preferable to nervous prostration,and the secret could not be kept much longer. Fellow-passengers havesome rights. Not even a stranger can be permitted to outrage theircuriosity with impunity forever.

  Seeing them together, Mrs. Temple watched the embrace with her dailyrenewal of joy that the last night's quarrel had not proved fatal. Shenudged her husband:

  "See, they're making up again."

  Dr. Temple was moved to a violent outburst for him: "Well, that's thedarnedest bridal couple--I only said darn, my dear."

  He was still more startled when Mr. Baumann, cruising along the aisle,bent over to murmur: "Can I fix you a nice divorce?"

  Dr. Temple rose in such an attitude of horror as he assumed in thepulpit when denouncing the greatest curse of society, and Mr. Baumannretired. As he passed Mallory he cast an appreciative glance atMarjorie and, tapping Mallory's shoulder, whispered: "No vonder youwant a marriage license. I'll be in the next car, should you neet me."Then he went on his route.

  Marjorie stared after him in wonder and asked: "What did that personmean by what he said?"

  "It's all right, Marjorie," Mallory explained, in the highest cheer:"We can get married right away."

  Marjorie declined to get her hopes up again: "You're always sayingthat."

  "But here's the license--see?"

  "What good is that?" she said, "there's no preacher on board."

  "But that man is a justice of the peace and he'll marry us."

  Marjorie stared at him incredulously: "That creature!--before allthese passengers?"

  "Not at all," Mallory explained. "We'll go into the smoking room."

  Marjorie leaped to her feet, aghast: "Elope two thousand miles to bemarried in a smoking room by a Yiddish drummer! Harry Mallory, you'recrazy."

  Put just that way, the proposition did not look so alluring as atfirst. He sank back with a sigh: "I guess I am. I resign."

  He was as weary of being "foiled again" as the villain of a cheapmelodrama. The two lovers sat in a twilight of deep melancholy, tillMarjorie's mind dug up a new source of alarm:

  "Harry, I've just thought of something terrible."

  "Let's have it," he sighed, drearily.

  "We reach San Francisco at midnight and you sail at daybreak. Whatbecomes of me?"

  Mallory had no answer to this problem, except a grim: "I'll not desertyou."

  "But we'll have no time to get married."

  "Then," he declared with iron resolve, "then I'll resign from theArmy."

  Marjorie stared at him with awe. He was so wonderful, so heroic. "Butwhat will the country do without you?"

  "It will have to get along the best it can," he answered withfinality. "Do you think I'd give you up?"

  But this was too much to ask. In the presence of a ruined career and ahero-less army, Marjorie felt that her own scruples were too petty tocount. She could be heroic, too.

  "No!" she said, in a deep, low tone, "No, we'll get married in thesmoking room. Go call your drummer!"

  This opened the clouds and let in the sun again with such a radiantblaze that Mallory hesitated no longer. "Fine!" he cried, and leapedto his feet, only to be detained again by Marjorie's clutch:

  "But first, what about that bracelet?"

  "She's got it," Mallory groaned, slumping from the heights again.

  "Do you mean to say she's still wearing it?"

  "How was I to get it?"

  "Couldn't you have slipped into her car last night and stolen it?"

  "Good Lord, I shouldn't think you'd want me to go--why, Marjorie--I'dbe arrested!"

  But Marjorie set her jaw hard: "Well, you get that bracelet, or youdon't get me." And then her smouldering jealousy and grief took a lesshateful tone: "Oh, Harry!" she wailed, "I'm so lonely and so helplessand so far from home."

  "But I'm here," he urged.

  "You're farther away than anybody," she whimpered, huddling close tohim.

  "Poor little thing," he murmured, soothing her with voice and kiss andcaress.

  "Put your arm round me," she cooed, like a mourning dove, "I don'tcare if everybody is looking. Oh, I'm so lonely."

  "I'm just as lonely as you are," he pleaded, trying to creep into thecompany of her misery.

  "Please marry me soon," she implored, "won't you, please?"

  "I'd marry you this minute if you'd say the word," he whispered.

  "I'd say it if you only had that bracelet," she sobbed, like a tiredchild. "I should think you would understand my feelings. That awfulperson is wearing your bracelet and I have only your ring, and herbracelet is ten times as big as my r-i-ing, boo-hoo-hoo-oo!"

  "I'll get that bracelet if I have to chop her arm off," Mallory vowed.

  The sobs stopped short, as Marjorie looked up to ask: "Have you gotyour sword with you?"

  "It's in my trunk," he said, "but I'll manage."

  "Now you're speaking like a soldier," Marjorie exclaimed, "my brave,noble, beautiful, fearless husband. I'll tell you! That creature willpass through this car on her way to breakfast. You grab her and takethe bracelet away from her."

  "I grab her, eh?" he stammered, his heroism wavering a trifle.

  "Yes, just grab her."

  "Suppose she hasn't the bracelet on?" he mused.

  "Grab her anyway," Marjorie answered, fiercely. "Besides, I've nodoubt it's wished on." He said nothing. "You did wish it on, didn'tyou?"

  "No, no--never--of course not--" he protested "If you'll only be calm.I'll get it if I have to throttle her."

  Like a young Lady Macbeth, Marjorie gave him her utter approval in anyatrocity, and they sat in ambush for their victim to pass into view.

  They had not had their breakfast, but they forgot it. A dusky waiterwent by chanting his "Lass call for breakfuss in Rining Rar." Hechanted it thrice in their ears, but they never heard. Marjorie wasgloating over the discomfiture of the odious creature who had dared toprecede her in the acquaintance of her husband-to-be. Thehusband-to-be was miserably wishing that he had to face a tribe ofbolo-brandishing Moros, instead of this trivial girl whom he hadlooked upon when her cheeks were red.