George Barr McCutcheon

“ There was no sign of Havens and no effort on the lady’s part to leave Eagle Nest.
As the days went by Rossiter became more and more vigilant. In fact, his watch was incessant and very much of a personal one. He walked and drove with her, and he invented all sorts of excuses to avoid Mrs. Van Haltford and Miss Crozier. The purple parasol and he had become almost inseparable friends. The fear that Havens might return at any time kept him in a fever of anxiety and dread. Now that he was beginning to know her for himself he could not endure the thought that she cared for another man. ”

“ It would be difficult to perform the duties assigned to him if either she or Havens knew him for what he was. His pride would have been deeply wounded if he had known that Grover & Dickhut recommended him to Wharton as “obscure.”
“They say she is a howling beauty as well as a swell,” reflected Rossiter, as the miles and minutes went swinging by. “And that’s something to be thankful for. One likes novelty, especially if it’s feminine. Well, I’m out for the sole purpose of saving a million or so for old Wharton and to save as much of her reputation as I can besides. ”

“ She was sitting on the edge of the improvised couch, smiling sweetly, even timidly.
“It must be cold out there. You must wear this.”
She came toward him, the raincoat in one hand, the purple parasol in the other. He took the parasol only and departed without a word. She gasped and would have called after him, but there was no use. With a perplexed frown and smile she went slowly, dubiously toward the folded bed. ”

“ Anybody who would get off of a night train in Fossingford certainly ought to be ashamed of something."
"But Fossingford is on the map, isn't it? One has a perfect right to get off where she likes, hasn't she, provided it is on the map?"
"Not at all! That's what maps are for: to let you see where you don't get off."
"But I was obliged to get off there. My ticket said 'Fossingford,' and, besides, I was to be met at the station in a most legitimate manner. You had no right to jump at conclusions."
"Well, if you had not descended to earth at Fossingford I wouldn't be in heaven at Eagle Nest. ”

“ It was very dark out there on the platform and the night air was growing cold.
"It is the misfortune of obscurity," he said mockingly. "I am a most humble wayfarer on his way to the high hills. If it will make you feel any more comfortable, madam, I will say that I don't know who you are. So, you see, we are in the same boat. You are waiting for a man and I am waiting for daylight. I sincerely trust you may not have as long to wait as I. Believe me, I regard myself as a gentleman. You are quite as safe with me as you will be with the agent, or with Mr.—Mr. Dudley, for that matter." ”

“ Wharton,” he said, after awhile. “You had the gray jacket, the sailor hat, the purple parasol, and you are beautiful. And you’ll admit that Dudley was an excellent substitute for Havens. Can’t you see how easy it was to be mistaken?”
“I won’t fall into easy submission. Still, I believe I could recommend you as a detective. They usually do the most unheard of things—just as you have. Poor Jim Dudley an actor! Mistaken for such a man as you say Havens is! It is even more ridiculous than that I should be mistaken for Mrs. Wharton.” ”

“ He began by making its foundation as substantial as brains and energy would permit. So earnest, so successful was he that Grover & Dickhut regarded him as the most promising young man in New York. They predicted a great future for him, no small part of which was the ultimate alteration of an office shingle, the name of Rossiter going up in gilt, after that of Dickhut. And, above all, Rossiter was a handsome, likable chap. Tall, fair, sunny-hearted, well groomed, he was a fellow that both sexes liked without much effort.
The Wharton trouble was bound to prove startling any way one looked at it. ”

“ Then aloud: “I’ll look on the platform. Maybe he’s lost in this great city. What name shall I call out?”
“Please don’t call very loudly. You’ll wake the dead,” she said, with a pathetic smile. “It’s awfully good of you. He may come at any minute, you know. His name is—is”—she hesitated for a second, and then went on determinedly—“Dudley. Tall, dark man. I don’t know how I shall thank you. It’s so very awkward.”
Rossiter darted from her glorious but perplexed presence. He had never seen Havens, but he was sure he could recognize an actor if he saw him in Fossingford. ”

“ He could not rush through the sleepers, even though the trains stopped in Fossingford for water. Besides, she could not be identified by means of a gray suit, a sailor hat and a purple parasol if they were tucked away in the berth. At eleven o’clock he was pacing the little depot platform, waiting for the eleven-ten train, the last he was to inspect for the night. He had eaten a scanty meal at the restaurant nearby and was still mad about it. The station agent slept soundly at his post, and all the rest of the town had gone to bed. ”

“ A half-dozen passengers huddled off and wandered away in the darkness.
“I’ll bet my head she’s in one of those sleepers,” he groaned, as he watched the lights on the rear coach fade away into the night. “It’s all off till tomorrow, that’s settled. My only hope is that she really stopped in Albany. There’s a train through here at three in the morning, but I’m not detective enough to unravel the mystery of any woman’s berth. ”

“ It will require but few words to explain Sam Rossiter's presence in the north-bound Empire Express, but it would take volumes to express his feelings on the subject in general. Back in New York there lived Godfrey Wharton, millionaire and septuagenarian. For two years he had been husband to one of the prettiest, gayest young women in the city, and in the latter days of this responsibility he was not a happy man. His wife had fallen desperately, even conspicuously, in love with Everett Havens, the new leading man at one of the fashionable playhouses. ”

“ THE PURPLE PARASOL GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
THE PURPLE PARASOL Young Rossiter did not like the task. The more he thought of it as he whirled northward on the Empire State Express the more distasteful it seemed to grow.
"Hang it all," he thought, throwing down his magazine in disgust, "it's like police work. And heaven knows I haven't wanted to be a cop since we lived in Newark twenty years ago. Why the dickens did old Wharton marry her? He's an old ass, and he's getting just what he might have expected. She's twenty-five and beautiful; he's seventy and a sight. ”

“ Wharton had every reason to suspect that it was a present from Havens, and therefore to be carried more for sentiment than protection.
A telegram awaited him at Fossingford Station. Fossingford was so small and unsophisticated that the arrival of a telegraphic message that did not relate to the movement of railroad trains was an "occasion." Everybody in town knew that a message had come for Samuel Rossiter, and everybody was at the depot to see that he got it. The station agent had inquired at the "eating-house" for the gentleman, and that was enough. ”

“ I don’t understand why I’m sandwiched in between Havens and Aunt Josephine. Otherwise the arrangement is neat. There is a veranda outside our windows. We sit upon it. Aunt Josephine is a great bluff, but she’s clever. She’s never napping. I’ve tried to pump her. Miss Crozier is harmless. She doesn’t care. Havens never takes his eyes off Mrs. W. when they are together. She looks at him a good bit, too. They don’t pay much attention to me. Aunt Josephine’s husband is very old and very busy. He can’t take vacations. Everybody went to bed early tonight. ”

“ I love her! I love her better than all the world! I can’t stay here and see any more of it! By thunder, I’ll go back to New York and they can go to the devil! So can old Wharton! And so can Grover & Dickhut!”
He leaped to his feet, dashed headlong to the telegraph office downstairs, and ten minutes later this message was flying to Grover & Dickhut:
Get someone else for this job. I’m done with it. Coming home.—Sam. “I’m coming on the first train, too,” muttered the sender, as he hurried upstairs. “I can pack my trunk for the night stage. ”

“ Has he come?”
“No, Miss Dering, he is not here,” and added, under his breath, “damn him!” Then aloud, “The train is coming.”
“And he didn’t come?” she almost wailed.
“I fancy you’d better try to sleep until morning. There’s nothing to stay awake for,” although it came with a pang.
“Absolutely nothing,” she murmured, and his pride took a respectful tumble. As she began to rearrange her hair, rather clumsily spoiling a charming effect, he remonstrated.
“Don’t bother about your hair.” She looked at him in wonder for an instant, a little smile finally creeping to her lips. ”

“ He clenched the parasol and grated his teeth.
“She’s leading me on, confound her!” he thought. At the same time his head whirled and his heart beat a little faster. “You shouldn’t,” he said, “if you are tired. There’s more of an attraction at Velvet Springs, I suppose.” ”

“ The events of the ensuing week are best chronicled by the reproduction of Rossiter's own diary or report, with liberties in the shape of an author's comments.
THURSDAY. "Settled comfortably in Eagle Nest House. Devilish rugged and out-of-the-way place. Mrs. Van Haltford is called Aunt Josephine. She and Miss Debby Crozier have rooms on the third floor. Mine is next to theirs, Havens's is next to mine, and Mrs. Wharton has two rooms beyond his. We are not unlike a big family party. They're rather nice to me. I go walking with Aunt Josephine. ”

“ The only tall, dark object he saw was the mail-crane at the edge of the platform, but he facetiously asked if its name was Dudley. Receiving no answer, he turned back to cast additional woe into the heart of the pretty intriguer. She was standing in the door, despair in her eyes. Somehow he was pleased because he had not found the wretch. She was so fair to look upon and so appealing in her distress.
“You couldn’t find him? What am I to do? Oh, isn’t it awful? He promised to be here.”
“Perhaps he’s at a hotel.”
“In Fossingford?” in deep disgust. “There’s no hotel here. ”

“ Havens appeared on the scene, the same handsome, tragic-looking fellow, a trifle care-worn perhaps, but still—an evil genius. Rossiter ran plump into him in the hallway and was speechless for a moment. ”

“ With the eyes of a Fossingford score or two upon him, Rossiter read the despatch from Grover & Dickhut.
"Too bad, ain't it?" asked the agent, compassionately regarding the newcomer. Evidently the contents were supposed to be disappointing.
"Oh, I don't know," replied Rossiter easily. But just the same he was troubled in mind as he walked over and sat down upon his steamer trunk in the shade of the building. The telegram read:
"She left New York five-thirty this evening. Stops over night Albany.
Fossingford to-morrow morning. Watch trains. Purple parasol. Sailor hat. ”

“ Dudley comes.”
“It’s most provoking of him,” she said, as he began rummaging through his steamer trunk. “What are you doing?”
“Hunting out something to make over into a mattress. You don’t mind napping on my clothes, do you? Here’s a soft suit of flannels, a heavy suit of cheviot, a dress suit, a spring coat and a raincoat. I can rig up a downy couch in no time if——”
“Ridiculous! Do you imagine that I’m going to sleep on your best clothes? I’m going to sit up.”
“You’ll have to do as I say, madam, or be turned out of the hotel,” said he, with an infectious grin. ”

“ If I were to meet her now I’d—yes, by George—kiss her! It’s wrong to love her, but——”
There was nothing dignified about the manner in which big Sam Rossiter packed his trunk. He fairly stamped the clothing into it and did a lot of other absurd things. When he finally locked it and yanked out his watch his brow was wet and he was trembling. It had taken just five minutes to do the packing. His hat was on the back of his head, his collar was melting, and his cigar was chewed to a pulp. Cane and umbrella were yanked from behind the door and he was ready to fly. ”

“ Once he heard her tell Aunt Josephine that she had a letter from "Jim." He began to discover that "Jim" was a forbidden subject and that he was not discussed; at least, not in his presence. Many times he saw the two women in earnest, rather cautious conversation, and instinctively felt that Havens was the subject. Mrs. Wharton appeared piqued and discontented after these little talks. He made this entry in his diary one night, a week after Havens went away:
"I almost wish he'd come back and end the suspense. This thing is wearing on me. I was weighed to-day and I've lost ten pounds. Mrs. ”