by Bret Harte
sometemporary visitor unknown to Tappington and his family, or had theybeen hastily hidden by a servant? Yet they were of a make and texturesuperior to those that a servant would possess; looking at themcarefully, he recognized them to be of a quality used by thebetter-class gamblers. Restoring them carefully to their formerposition, he was tempted to take out the other volumes, and wasrewarded with the further discovery of a small box of ivory counters,known as "poker-chips." It was really very extraordinary! It wasquite the cache of some habitual gambler. Herbert smiled grimly at theirreverent incongruity of the hiding-place selected by its unknown andmysterious owner, and amused himself by fancying the horror of hissainted predecessor had he made the discovery. He determined toreplace them, and to put some mark upon the volumes before them inorder to detect any future disturbance of them in his absence.
Ought he not to take Miss Brooks in his confidence? Or should he saynothing about it at present, and trust to chance to discover thesacrilegious hider? Could it possibly be Cherry herself, guilty of thesame innocent curiosity that had impelled her to buy the "Ham-fat Man"?Preposterous! Besides, the cards had been used, and she could not playpoker alone!
He watched the rolling fog extinguish the line of Russian Hill, thelast bit of far perspective from his window. He glanced at hisneighbor's veranda, already dripping with moisture; the windows wereblank; he remembered to have heard the girls giggling in passing downthe side street on their way to church, and had noticed from behind hisown curtains that one was rather pretty. This led him to think ofCherry again, and to recall the quaint yet melancholy grace of herfigure as she sat on the stool opposite. Why had she withdrawn it soabruptly; did she consider his jesting allusion to it indecorous andpresuming? Had he really meant it seriously; and was he beginning tothink too much about her? Would she ever come again? How nice itwould be if she returned from church alone early, and they could have acomfortable chat together here! Would she sing the "Ham-fat Man" forhim? Would the dimples come back if she did? Should he ever know moreof this quaint repressed side of her nature? After all, what a dear,graceful, tantalizing, lovable creature she was! Ought he not at allhazards try to know her better? Might it not be here that he wouldfind a perfect realization of his boyish dreams, and in HER allthat--what nonsense he was thinking!
Suddenly Herbert was startled by the sound of a light but hurried footupon the wooden outer step of his second door, and the quick butineffective turning of the door-handle. He started to his feet, hismind still filled with a vision of Cherry. Then he as suddenlyremembered that he had locked the door on going out, putting the key inhis overcoat pocket. He had returned by the front door, and hisovercoat was now hanging in the lower hall.
The door again rattled impetuously. Then it was supplemented by afemale voice in a hurried whisper: "Open quick, can't you? do hurry!"
He was confounded. The voice was authoritative, not unmusical; but itwas NOT Cherry's. Nevertheless he called out quickly, "One moment,please, and I'll get the key!" dashed downstairs and up again,breathlessly unlocked the door and threw it open.
Nobody was there!
He ran out into the street. On one side it terminated abruptly on thecliff on which his dwelling was perched; on the other, it descendedmore gradually into the next thoroughfare; but up and down the street,on either hand, no one was to be seen. A slightly superstitiousfeeling for an instant crept over him. Then he reflected that themysterious visitor could in the interval of his getting the key haveeasily slipped down the steps of the cliff or entered the shrubbery ofone of the adjacent houses. But why had she not waited? And what didshe want? As he reentered his door he mechanically raised his eyes tothe windows of his neighbor's. This time he certainly was not mistaken.The two amused, mischievous faces that suddenly disappeared behind thecurtain as he looked up showed that the incident had not beenunwitnessed. Yet it was impossible that it could have been either ofTHEM. Their house was only accessible by a long detour. It might havebeen the trick of a confederate; but the tone of half familiarity andhalf entreaty in the unseen visitor's voice dispelled the idea of anycollusion. He entered the room and closed the door angrily. A grimsmile stole over his face as he glanced around at the dainty saint-likeappointments of the absent Tappington, and thought what thatirreproachable young man would have said to the indecorous intrusion,even though it had been a mistake. Would those shameless Pike Countygirls have dared to laugh at HIM?
But he was again puzzled to know why he himself should have beenselected for this singular experience. Why was HE considered fair gamefor these girls? And, for the matter of that, now that he reflectedupon it, why had even this gentle, refined, and melancholy Cherrythought it necessary to talk slang to HIM on their first acquaintance,and offer to sing him the "Ham-fat Man"? It was true he had been alittle gay, but never dissipated. Of course he was not a saint, likeTappington--oh, THAT was it! He believed he understood it now. He wassuffering from that extravagant conception of what worldliness consistsof, so common to very good people with no knowledge of the world.Compared to Tappington he was in their eyes, of course, a rake and aroue. The explanation pleased him. He would not keep it to himself.He would gain Cherry's confidence and enlist her sympathies. Hergentle nature would revolt at this injustice to their lonely lodger.She would see that there were degrees of goodness besides herbrother's. She would perhaps sit on that stool again and NOT sing the"Ham-fat Man."
A day or two afterwards the opportunity seemed offered to him. As hewas coming home and ascending the long hilly street, his eye was takenby a tall graceful figure just preceding him. It was she. He had neverbefore seen her in the street, and was now struck with her ladylikebearing and the grave superiority of her perfectly simple attire. In athoroughfare haunted by handsome women and striking toilettes, therefined grace of her mourning costume, and a certain stateliness thatgave her the look of a young widow, was a contrast that evidentlyattracted others than himself. It was with an odd mingling of prideand jealousy that he watched the admiring yet respectful glances of thepassers-by, some of whom turned to look again, and one or two toretrace their steps and follow her at a decorous distance. This causedhim to quicken his own pace, with a new anxiety and a remorseful senseof wasted opportunity. What a booby he had been, not to have made moreof his contiguity to this charming girl--to have been frightened at thenaive decorum of her maidenly instincts! He reached her side, andraised his hat with a trepidation at her new-found graces--with aboldness that was defiant of her other admirers. She blushed slightly.
"I thought you'd overtake me before," she said naively. "I saw YOUever so long ago."
He stammered, with an equal simplicity, that he had not dared to.
She looked a little frightened again, and then said hurriedly: "I onlythought that I would meet you on Montgomery Street, and we would walkhome together. I don't like to go out alone, and mother cannot alwaysgo with me. Tappington never cared to take me out--I don't know why.I think he didn't like the people staring and stop ping us. But theystare more--don't you think?--when one is alone. So I thought if youwere coming straight home we might come together--unless you havesomething else to do?"
Herbert impulsively reiterated his joy at meeting her, and averred thatno other engagement, either of business or pleasure, could or wouldstand in his way. Looking up, however, it was with some consternationthat he saw they were already within a block of the house.
"Suppose we take a turn around the hill and come back by the old streetdown the steps?" he suggested earnestly.
The next moment he regretted it. The frightened look returned to hereyes; her face became melancholy and formal again.
"No!" she said quickly. "That would be taking a walk with you likethese young girls and their young men on Saturdays. That's what Ellendoes with the butcher's boy on Sundays. Tappington often used to meetthem. Doing the 'Come, Philanders,' as he says you call it."
It struck Herbert that the didactic Tappington's method of inculcatinga
horror of slang in his sister's breast was open to some objection;but they were already on the steps of their house, and he was too muchmortified at the reception of his last unhappy suggestion to make theconfidential disclosure he had intended, even if there had still beentime.
"There's mother waiting for me," she said, after an awkward pause,pointing to the figure of Mrs. Brooks dimly outlined on the veranda."I suppose she was beginning to be worried about my being out alone.She'll be so glad I met you." It didn't appear to Herbert, however,that Mrs. Brooks exhibited any extravagant joy over the occurrence, andshe almost instantly retired with her daughter into the sitting-room,linking her arm in Cherry's, and, as it were, empanoplying her with herown invulnerable shawl. Herbert went to his room more