The Main Chance

by Meredith Nicholson

  CHAPTER XIX

  A FORECAST AT THE WHIPPLES'

  There was a cup of tea at the Whipples' for any one that dropped in atfive o'clock. The general kept a syphon in the icebox, and his wife'stea, which he loathed, gave him his excuse. He was fond of saying thatan exacting government made it impossible for an army officer to getacquainted with his wife until after his retirement, and then, hedeclared, there was nothing to discuss but the opportunities in lifewhich they had missed. They talked a great deal to each other abouttheir neighbors, and about their friends in the army whose lives theywere able to follow through the daily list of transfers in thenewspapers, and the ampler current history of the military establishmentin the Army and Navy Journal. Few men in Clarkson had time for thegeneral. He found the club an unsocial place, and he preferred his ownbattered copies of "Pendennis" and "Henry Esmond" to anything in theclub library. Occasionally when Mrs. Whipple was out for luncheon hewent to the club for midday sustenance, but the other men who hurriedthrough their forty cents' worth of table d'hote, talked of matters thatwere as alien to him as marine law. It would have suited the generalmuch better to live in Washington, where others with equally little todo assembled in force; but his wife would not hear to it. She would nothave her husband, she said, becoming a professional pall bearer, andthis was the occupation of retired officers of the army and navy at thecapital. He submitted to her superior authority, as he always did, andsettled in Clarkson, where one could get much more for one's money thanin Washington.

  The general usually remained in the Indian room at the tea hour,particularly if he liked the talk of the women who appeared, or if theywere good to look at; otherwise he carried his syphon to thedining-room, where there was a bottle of the same brand of rye whiskywhich he kept back of "The Life of Peter the Great" in a book case inthe Indian room. He and Mrs. Whipple had gone to the opera withoutEvelyn, and the general was now settling himself to his domesticroutine. He had dodged a woman whose prattle vexed him and whose callhad been prolonged, and having heard the door close upon her, he wasreturning to his own preserve with the intention of getting some hotwater from Mrs. Whipple's tea kettle for use in compounding a punch,when Bishop Delafield came in, bringing a great draft of cold air withhis huge figure. The bishop was a friend of many years' standing. Hissonorous voice filled the room and aided the fire in promotingcheeriness. Mrs. Whipple brewed her tea, and the general made hispunch,--for two--for it was certainly snowing somewhere in the Dioceseof Clarkson, the bishop said, and he had established his joke with thegeneral that he might allow himself spirits in bad weather, as apreventive of the rheumatism which he never had. The three made a cozypicture as they grouped themselves about the bright hearth. They werediscussing the marriage of an old officer whom they all knew, a man ofWhipple's own age, who had just married a woman much his junior.

  "It's easy for us all to philosophize adversely about such things," saidthe general, sitting up straight in his camp chair. "I have a good dealof sympathy with Bixby. He was lonely and his children were all marriedand scattered to the four winds. I suppose there's nothing worse thanloneliness."

  His wife frowned at him; their friend's long sorrow and his fidelity tohis memories appealed to all the romance in her.

  "It's very different," Mrs. Whipple made haste to say, "where there arechildren at home. Now there's Mr. Porter; he has Evelyn and Grant."

  "But that probably won't last long," said the bishop. "Girls have a wayof leaving home."

  "Well, there's nothing imminent?" asked Mrs. Whipple, anxiously.

  "Oh, no! And girls that have been educated as she has been are likely tochoose warily, aren't they?"

  "Nothing in it," said the general, stirring his glass. "They all go whenthey get ready, without notice. Education doesn't change that."

  "It strikes me that there aren't many eligible men here," said thebishop. "To be explicit, just whom shall a girl like Evelyn Portermarry?" He did not intend this for the general, who was refilling theglasses, but the general refused to be ignored.

  "It's my observation," he began, with an air of having much to impart,if they would only let him alone, "that in every town the size of thisthere are people who are predestined to marry. They fight it as hard asthey can, and dodge their destinies wherever possible; but it's a prettysure thing that ultimately they'll hit it off."

  "That sounds like a sort of social presbyterianism to me," said thebishop dryly, "and therefore heretical." He was really interested inknowing what Mrs. Whipple knew or felt on this subject as it affectedEvelyn Porter. "Now you've been better trained, Mrs. Whipple," he said.

  "Well, so far as Evelyn's concerned," she answered, knowing that thiswas what the bishop wanted, "I'm not worrying about her. She's asensible girl and will take care of herself. I'm not half so much afraidof destiny as of propinquity. We all know how the bachelor captain goesdown before the sister, or the in-law of some kind, of the colonel ofthe regiment."

  "That's not propinquity," said the general; "that's ordinary Christiancharity on the captain's part."

  "Suppose," said the bishop slowly, "the commandant so to speak, isreally a banker, with a trusted officer, a kind of adjutant at hiselbow; and also a handsome daughter. Assume such a hypothetical case,and what are you going to do about it?" He drained his glass and put itdown carefully.

  "This looks like the appeal direct," answered Mrs. Whipple, laughing andlooking at her husband, who was meditating another punch and feeling forthe scent blindly.

  "I don't know about that Mr. Wheaton," said Mrs. Whipple, meeting theissue squarely. "He doesn't seem amusing to me, but then--I don't knowhim!"

  "Must one be amusing?" asked the bishop.

  "Oh, I mean more than that!" exclaimed Mrs. Whipple. "Don't we alwaysmean intelligent when we say amusing?"

  "Definitions certainly change. We are growing terribly exacting thesedays. But," he added, serious again, "Wheaton's a success; he's pointedto as one of Clarkson's rising men; one of the really self-made."

  "Yes; I fancy he never knew Evelyn before the Knights of Midas ball;"and she sighed, wondering whether she was culpable. She knew that thebishop meant more than he had said and that this was a kind of warningto her. She felt guilty, remembering the ball, and the appeal Evelyn hadmade to her beforehand. A woman that has enjoyed a long career offancied infallibility experiences sorrow when she suddenly questions thewisdom of her own judgments.

  "What's the matter with Warry Raridan?" demanded the general. "He's gotto marry somebody some day; he and Evelyn would make a very propermatch. Wouldn't they?" he pleaded, when his wife and their visitor didnot respond promptly.

  "Oh, Warry's well enough," the bishop answered. "But Warry's anuncertain quantity. He's a fine, clean fellow, with all kinds ofpossibilities; but--they're possibilities!"

  "Warry's certainly bright enough," said General Whipple.

  "His sense of humor is a trifle too keen for every-day use," said thebishop.

  "What's he been up to now?" asked the general.

  The bishop laughed quietly to himself.

  "It was this way. You know Warry's interest in church matters isabnormal. The boy really knows a lot of theology for one who has neverstudied it. He has, he says, a neat taste in bishops, whatever thatmeans--" the bishop chuckled softly,--"and whenever one of my brethrenvisits me, Warry always lays himself out to give us what he calls a warmlittle time. A few days ago I had a letter from the Patriarch ofAlexandria, whom I don't know, in which he set forth that Doctor WarrickRaridan, of my diocese, had written him proposing a great reunion ofChristendom, based on the Coptic rite. As neither the Roman, the Greek,nor the Anglican Church afforded a common meeting ground, owing to manydifficulties, the American gentleman had suggested that all might meetat Alexandria. The Patriarch was delighted. Doctor Raridan had suggestedme as a reference, hence the venerable prelate wished to know my opinionof the extent of the movement. I suppose Warry did that as a joke on me,or to get the Patriarch's autograph, I don't know which.
I haven't seenWarry since, but I'm disposed to dust his jacket for him in a fatherlyway when I get hold of him. I don't know why the Patriarch should callWarry 'Doctor.' He probably assumed that a man who could write as good aletter as Warry is capable of must be a person of distinction."

  "Warry's a gentleman, at any rate," said Mrs. Whipple.

  "Which Wheaton isn't; is that the idea?" demanded the general; and thenadded: "This Wheaton strikes me as being a wooden kind of fellow. Heacts as if he hadn't been used to things."

  "Sh-h! be careful! That's no test of worth on the banks of theMissouri," said his wife warningly.

  "Do you mean to say that Evelyn Porter's chances have been fullycovered?" demanded the general. He liked gossip and hoped the subjectwould prove more fruitful.

  "There's Mr. Saxton," said his wife. "He seems altogether possible."

  "He's the new man, isn't he? He always lifts his hat to me in thestreet; an unusual attention in this ill-mannered age."

  "Does _he_ act as if he had been used to things?" asked the bishop. Hewas still seriously interested in canvassing Evelyn's case.

  "He's very nice," Mrs. Whipple said; "but he's not desperately exciting,as the girls say."

  "But then!" The bishop lifted his hands with a despairing gesture, "mustyoung men be amusing or exciting in these days? Is he honest? Does helead a clean life? Has he, as the saying is, an outlook on life?"

  "He isn't seeing much of Evelyn, I think," said Mrs. Whipple. "And he'sa great friend of Warry's. They may offset each other."

  "Bless my soul!" exclaimed the general, "I don't see any use in worryingover Evelyn Porter and her suitors. She'll have plenty of them. And whenshe gets good and ready she'll up and marry one of them."

  "No girl with at least three possibilities in one town, to say nothingof dozens she may have elsewhere, need be a subject of commiseration,"said Mrs. Whipple.

  "But," began the bishop slowly, "it might be better to eliminate atleast one."

  "Not Warry!" threw in Mrs. Whipple.

  "Not Saxton," added the general. "I like him; he's polite and thoughtfulabout us old folks."

  The bishop had risen, knowing that the climax of a conversation is bestgiven standing.

  "I shouldn't cut out either of them," he said, smiling.