Part 1 (1/2)
Prudence of the Parsonage.
by Ethel Hueston.
CHAPTER I
INTRODUCING HER
None but the residents consider Mount Mark, Iowa, much of a town, and those who are honest among them admit, although reluctantly, that Mount Mark can boast of far more patriotism than good judgment! But the _very most_ patriotic of them all has no word of praise for the ugly little red C., B. & Q. railway station. If pretty is as pretty does, as we have been told so unpleasantly often, then the station is handsome enough, but as an ornament to the commonwealth it is a dismal failure,--low, smoky and dust-grimed. In winter its bleakness and bareness add to the chill of the rigorous Iowa temperature, and in summer the sap oozing through the boards is disagreeably suggestive of perspiration. The waiting-room itself is ”cleaned” every day, and yet the same dust lies in the corners where it has lain for lo, these many years. And as for the cobwebs, their chief distinction lies in their ripe old age. If there were only seven spiders in the ark, after the subsiding of the waters, at least a majority of them must have found their way to Mount Mark station in South-eastern Iowa.
Mount Mark is anything but proud of the little station. It openly scoffs at it, and sniffs contemptuously at the ticket agent who bears the entire C., B. & Q. reputation upon his humble shoulders. At the same time, it certainly does owe the railroad and the state a debt of grat.i.tude for its presence there. It is the favorite social rendezvous for the community! Only four pa.s.senger trains daily pa.s.s through Mount Mark,--not including the expresses, which rush haughtily by with no more than a scornful whistle for the sleepy town, and in return for this indignity, Mount Mark cherishes a most unchristian antipathy toward those demon fliers.
But the ”pa.s.sengers”--ah, that is a different matter. The arrival of a pa.s.senger train in Mount Mark is an event--something in the nature of a C., B. & Q. ”At Home,” and is always attended by a large and enthusiastic gathering of ”our best people.” All that is lacking are the proverbial ”light refreshments!”
So it happened that one sultry morning, late in the month of August, there was the usual flutter of excitement and confusion on the platform and in the waiting-room of the station. The habitues were there in force. Conspicuous among them were four gaily dressed young men, smoking cigarettes and gazing with lack-l.u.s.ter eyes upon the animated scene, which evidently bored them. All the same, they invariably appeared at the depot to witness this event, stirring to others no doubt, but incapable of arousing the interest of these life-weary youths. They comprised the Slaughter-house Quartette, and were the most familiar and notorious characters in all the town.
_The Daily News_ reporter, in a well-creased, light gray suit and tan shoes, and with eye-gla.s.ses scientifically balanced on his aquiline nose, was making pointed inquiries into the private plans of the travelers. _The Daily News_ reporters in Mount Mark always wear well-creased, light gray suits and tan shoes, and always have eye-gla.s.ses scientifically balanced on aquiline noses. The uninitiated can not understand how it is managed, but there lies the fact. Perhaps _The News_ includes these details in its requirements of applicants.
Possibly it furnishes the gray suits and the tan shoes, and even the eye-gla.s.ses. Of course, the reporters can practise balancing them scientifically,--but how does it happen that they always have aquiline noses? At any rate, that is the Mount Mark type. It never varies.
The young woman going to Burlington to spend the week-end was surrounded with about fifteen other young women who had come to ”see her off.” She had relatives in Burlington and went there very often, and she used to say she was glad she didn't have to exchange Christmas presents with all the ”friends” who witnessed her arrivals and departures at the station. Mount Mark is a very respectable town, be it understood, and girls do not go to the station without an excuse!
The Adams Express wagon was drawn close to the track, and the agent was rus.h.i.+ng about with a breathless energy which seemed all out of proportion to his accomplishments. The telegraph operator was gazing earnestly out of his open window, and his hands were busily moving papers from one pigeon-hole to another, and back again. Old Harvey Reel, who drove the hotel bus, was discussing politics with the man who kept the restaurant, and the baggage master, superior and supremely dirty, was checking baggage with his almost unendurably lordly air.
This was one of the four daily rejuvenations that gladdened the heart of Mount Mark.
A man in a black business suit stood alone on the platform, his hands in his pockets, his eyes wandering from one to another of the strange faces about him. His plain white ready-made tie proclaimed his calling.
”It's the new Methodist preacher,” volunteered the baggage master, crossing the platform, ostensibly on business bound, but really to see ”who all” was there. ”I know him. He's not a bad sort.”
”They say he's got five kids, and most of 'em girls,” responded the Adams Express man. ”I've ordered me a dress suit to pay my respects in when they get here. I want to be on hand early to pick me out a girl.”
”Yah,” mocked the telegraph operator, bobbing his head through the window, ”you need to. They tell me every girl in Mount Mark has turned you down a'ready.”
But the Methodist minister, gazing away down the track where a thin curl of smoke announced the coming of Number Nine, and Prudence,--heard nothing of this conversation. He was not a handsome man. His hair was gray at the temples, his face was earnest, only saved from severity by the little cl.u.s.ters of lines at his eyes and mouth which proclaimed that he laughed often, and with relish.
”Train going east!”
The minister stood back from the crowd, but when the train came pounding in a brightness leaped into his eyes that entirely changed the expression of his face. A slender girl stood in the vestibule, leaning dangerously outward, and waving wildly at him a small gloved hand.
When the train stopped she leaped lightly from the steps, ignoring the stool placed for her feet by the conductor.
”Father!” she cried excitedly and small and slight as she was, she elbowed her way swiftly through the gaping crowd. ”Oh, father!” And she flung her arms about him joyously, unconscious of the admiring eyes of the Adams Express man, and the telegraph operator, and old Harvey Reel, whose eyes were always admiring when girls pa.s.sed by. She did not even observe that the Slaughterhouse Quartette looked at her unanimously, with languid interest from out the wreaths of smoke they had created.
Her father kissed her warmly. ”Where is your baggage?” he asked, a hand held out to relieve her.
”Here!” And with a radiant smile she thrust upon him a box of candy and a gaudy-covered magazine.
”Your suit-case,” he explained patiently.
”Oh!” she gasped. ”Run, father, run! I left it on the train!”
Father did run, but Prudence, fleeter-footed, out-distanced him and clambered on board, panting.
When she rejoined her father her face was flushed. ”Oh, father,” she said quite snappily, ”isn't that just like me?”