Part 2 (2/2)

XII

NEW YORK, Dec. 18, 1894.

MY DEAR MIRIAM,--What is the matter with you? What have I done to offend you? You keep me waiting ten days for a letter, and then when it comes it's only four lines and it's cold and curt; and there isn't a word of love in it.

If it means you are getting tired of me and want to break off, say so right out, and I'll drop everything and go up to Auburnvale on the first train and make love to you all over again and just insist on your marrying me. You needn't think I've changed. Distance don't make any difference to me. If anybody's changed it's you. I'm just the same. I love you as much as ever I did; more, too, I guess. Why, what would I have to look forward to in life if I didn't have you?

Now, I simply can't stand the way you have been treating me.

First off I thought you might be jealous, but I knew I couldn't give you any cause for that, so I saw that wasn't it. The only thing I can think of is that separation is a strain on you. I know it is on me, but I felt I just had to stand it. And if I could stand it when what I wanted was you, well, I guessed you could stand it when all you had to do without was me.

Now, I tell you what I'll do, if you say so. I'll drop everything here and give up trying. What's the use of a fortune to me if I don't have you to share it with me? Of course, I'd like to be rich some day, but that's because I want you to have money and to hold your own with the best of them. Now, you just say the word and I'll quit. I'll throw up my job with Fa.s.siter, Smith & Kiddle, though they are going to give me a raise at New Year's. Mr. Smith told me yesterday. I'll quit and I'll go back to Auburnvale for the rest of my life. I don't care if it is only a little country village--_you_ live in it, and that's enough for me. I'll clerk in the store, if I can get the job there, or I'll farm it, or I'll do anything you say. Only you must tell me plainly what it is you want.

What I want most in the world is you!

JACK.

XIII

NEW YORK, Jan. 1, 1895.

DEAREST MIRIAM,--That was a sweet letter you wrote me Christmas--just the kind of letter I hope you will always write.

And so you have decided that I'm to stay here and work hard and make a fortune and you will wait for me and you won't be cold to me again.

That's the way I thought you would decide; and I guess it's the decision that's best for both of us.

What sets me up, too, is your saying you may be able to come down here for a little visit. Come as soon as you can. If the friend you're going to stay with is really living up at One Hundredth Street, she's a long way off, but that won't prevent my getting up to see you as often as I can.

I shall like to show you the town and take you to see the interesting places. It will amuse me to watch the way you take things here. You'll find out that Auburnvale is a pretty small place, after you've seen New York.

Of course, you'll come to Dr. Thurston's on Sunday with me. I wonder if you wouldn't like to help in the Sunday-school library while you are in town? Mr. Stanwood's going down to Florida to see about his railroad there, and he's to take his daughter with him, so there's n.o.body to give out books on Sunday.

But no matter about that, so long as you come soon. You know who will be waiting for you on the platform, trying to get a sight of you again after all these months.

JACK.

XIV

NEW YORK, Feb. 22, 1895.

DEAR MIRIAM,--Do be reasonable! That's all I ask. Don't get excited about nothing! I confess I don't understand you at all. I've heard of women carrying on this way, but I thought _you_ had more sense! You can't think how you distress me.

After a long month in town here, when I'd seen you as often as I could and three or four times a week most always, suddenly you break out as you did yesterday after church; and then when I go to see you this evening you've packed up and gone home.

Now, what had I done wrong yesterday? I can't see. After Sunday-school you were in the library and Miss Stanwood came in unexpectedly, just back from Florida. I introduced you to her, and she was very pleasant indeed. She wouldn't have been if she'd known how you made fun of her and called her the Gilt-Edged and all that--but then she didn't know.

She was very friendly to you and said she hoped you were to be in town all winter, since Auburnvale must be so very dull. Well, it _is_ dull, and you know it, so you needn't have taken offense at that. Then she said the superintendent had asked her to get up a show for the Sunday-school--a sort of magic-lantern exhibition of those photographs of the Holy Land, and she wanted to know if I wouldn't help her. Of course, I said I would, and then you said the library was very hot and wouldn't I come out at once.

<script>