Chapter IX: Palma’s New Friend

“I will leave you for half an hour to make your arrangements,” said Stuart to his wife; and he left the room and went downstairs and out upon the sidewalk to take the air.

Judy had thrown herself into an easy-chair and stretched out her feet to the bright little fire.

Palma pushed the small sofa back against the wall, and then went into the bedroom, from which she brought a cushion and a rug. When she had arranged the sofa into a couch she turned and looked at her guest.

Judy was nodding.

Palma went and laid her hand on the sleeper’s shoulder and gently aroused her, saying:

“Whenever you wish to retire, dear, your room is ready.”

“Oh! sure, I thank ye, ma’am. Any time as shutes yourself will shute me,” replied Judy with a wide gape, waking up.

“Come, then,” said Palma, and she led the sleepy and half-bewildered girl into the pretty little bedchamber, where she had laid out a dainty night dress for her guest. Judy waked up fully in the process of disrobing, and then her hostess said:

“To-morrow you shall have a better accommodation, but to-night you will share my room. I hope you won’t mind it.”

“Och, no, ma’am. Sure and haven’t I been used to pigging in itself?” began Judy brightly, but she suddenly checked herself and amended her phraseology—“I mean, ma’am, I have been accustomed to close quarters in the mining camp, and this is a palace compared to any place I have ever seen before.”

“It is a pretty little doll’s house as one could wish, for dolls,” replied Palma with a laugh. “Not quite spacious enough, however, for one who loves space.”

“Which side am I to sleep on, ma’am?” inquired the girl when she was ready for bed.

“Any side you wish, dear. But, Judy, please don’t call me ‘ma’am.’ If you do I shall be obliged to call you ‘miss,’ and I should not like that, and I do not think you would like it, either.”

“Fegs and I wouldn’t! Oh! that is to say, no, ma’am, I should not. I should feel it to be cold and unkind of you.”

“Very well, then, Judy dear, do as you would be done by.”

“I will, ma’am,” said the girl, getting into bed and lying down on the side next to the wall and squeezing herself against it to take up as little room as possible, “and indeed, ma’am, since it displeases you, I will try to remember—never—to call—you ma’am—again.”

The last word was scarcely audible, for as soon as Judy’s head dropped on the pillow her eyes closed and she fell fast asleep.

Palma returned to the parlor, drew the easy-chair to the fire, and seated herself to wait for Stuart.

He came in at length and dropped himself into the larger easy-chair by Palma’s side.

“Judy is fast asleep. She dropped asleep first in this chair here, and afterward, when I got her to bed, she fell asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow,” Palma told him with a smile.

“And you?” inquired Stuart.

“Oh! I am not at all sleepy. I feel too much elated by the arrival of all these people. I wonder what Mrs. Pole will think when she finds out that we have a visitor staying with us?”

“Doesn’t she know, Palma?”

“Why, no, Cleve. She went to bed before the colonel left us, and how could she know that the girl remained behind? And I wonder what she will say?”

“Well, Palma, I think she will disapprove.”

“But you don’t, Cleve?”

“Not at all, dear. I am glad you took the girl in. We will find a room for her to-morrow.”

The clock struck twelve, yet still the young couple sat talking to each other like a pair of lovers loath to say good-night, as any young “courting couple” could possibly be; for, in fact, they were now sweethearts. Palma, we know, had always loved Cleve; but only since their marriage had Cleve been growing every day more in love with his wife. So they sat and talked, or sat in silence over the fire, until the clock struck two.

“Now, my dear, you must really go to bed, even if you are not sleepy,” said Stuart, rising and standing up, as much as to say, “Here I shall stand until you go.”

“You turn me out, then?”

“Yes, I turn you out!”

Palma stood on tiptoes to kiss him good-night. He lifted her in his arms and kissed her again and again, and then set her down, and she vanished through the damask portières into the little bedroom.

Stuart threw off his coat and lay down on the sofa. It was a short sofa with a low back and two arms. Cleve’s head lay upon one arm and his legs dangled over the other. The discomfort of the position would have kept him from sleep even if the apartment had been quiet, which it was not.

Palma’s entrance had waked Judy. The girl had had three hours’ sound sleep and had waked up refreshed in mind and body, delighted to find herself in such a rare, beautiful little room and with such a lovely companion. She felt no inclination to sleep more just then—but to talk.

A kindly yet indiscreet question from Palma set her tongue going, and she talked on and never stopped until she had told her whole story.

As there was nothing but the red damask portières that separated the little chamber from the little parlor, Stuart heard the whole of that story; he could not help hearing it. Once or twice he hemmed to let the narrator know that he was awake and listening; but that made no difference to Judy. She had no secrets. “All the birds of the air” were welcome to hear her history. It was near daylight when at length she had talked herself to sleep. As for Palma, she had dozed through the narrative, though Judy had not suspected it.

With the first glinting of the rising sun’s rays through the slats of the parlor blinds, Stuart gladly arose from his uncomfortable couch and went into the little bathroom to make his morning toilet.

When he had finished it, in returning to the parlor he passed by the open door and saw that Mrs. Pole had risen, tidied up her kitchen and got breakfast well under way. He stepped in to tell her about their guest and send her into the parlor to set the room to rights. Then he went downstairs to take the air on the sidewalk.

Mrs. Pole passed into the parlor to hoist the window, replenish the fire, and restore the place to order before setting the breakfast table.

Her movements awoke the two sleepers in the next room.

They arose laughing and talking, dressed themselves quickly and came out into the parlor.

Mrs. Pole turned from the window she was just closing to look at the stranger.

Palma laughingly introduced the two.

“This is our friend, Miss Judith Man, Poley. And, Judy, darling, this is our dear Mrs. Pole, who is like a second mother to me.”

The elder woman wiped her clean hands on her clean apron, and then gave the stranger a close clasp and a warm welcome.

“Now, Poley, dear, you can go and look after the breakfast, and we will set the table. Miss Judith is quite at home with us, and knows as much about housekeeping as we do,” said Palma brightly.

Mrs. Pole made no objection, but left the room.

Then Palma—and Judy following her example—began to take the books off the center table and pile them in a corner. Then they folded the table cover and laid it upon them.

Palma went to the prettiest little doll’s corner cupboard that ever was seen, opened a drawer in the lower part of it, and took out a white damask cloth which she spread upon the table.

Then she handed out the china, piece by piece, which Judy took and arranged on the cloth.

“You see, dear, what a little casket we live in,” said Palma when the table was ready and the cupboard closed.

“Sure, darlint, ye are a precious jewel yerself, and where would ye be stored but in a casket itself?” demanded Judy.

Presently Stuart came up from below and greeted the two young women cordially.

Mrs. Pole brought in the breakfast and they sat down to the table.

They were scarcely seated when Ran entered, shook hands all around, and took the fourth place at the table, which had been prepared for him.

The conversation grew lively.

“When shall we see Mike?” inquired Ran at length.

“Oh! to-day, I hope,” replied Judy.

“Does he know where to find us?”

“He didn’t yesterday! No more did we! And he wint with his friends—friends to a chape—cheap boarding-house before the colonel found you out. But sure he will know where we are by this time! The colonel will have told him.”

While they were yet speaking in walked the colonel with Mike.

All the company arose from the table to receive them.

Ran and Mike closed hands cordially at once, while the colonel was shaking hands with Stuart, Palma, and Judy.

Then Ran introduced Mike to his cousins, who received him heartily.

“And, now, won’t you both sit down and take some breakfast with us?” inquired Stuart and Palma in a breath.

“Oh, thank you! I just got up from my breakfast to bring Man here,” said the colonel.

“And meself finished before I wint to his honor,” said Mike.

“But do not let us disturb you. Pray, go on with your own breakfast,” said Col. Moseley.

“Oh, we have done!” replied Stuart, while Palma rang the bell for Mrs. Pole to come and take away the service.

A few minutes later they were all seated in the little parlor, which the company of six nearly filled.

“And how is the misthress this morning, sir?” inquired Judy of the colonel.

“Oh! she has quite recovered from her fatigue and has gone house-hunting with Mrs. Walling.”

“And the childher?”

“Ah! well and delighted with the great city,” replied Col. Moseley; and as Judy asked no more questions he turned to Ran and said:

“I find that you have had very little difficulty in prevailing on the Messrs. Walling to recognize your rights, Hay!”

“None whatever, sir; thanks to your strong letter!” replied Ran.

“Thanks to your strong proofs, rather. Who could withstand such overwhelming evidence? But, Hay, in none of your letters did you tell us who the rival claimant was, although I asked you to do so.”

“I never got your letter containing such a request, sir, or I should have complied with it. The reason why I never volunteered the information was because the subject was a painful one. And, by the way, has not Mr. or Mrs. Walling told you who that impostor was?”

“No. I have not had five minutes’ private conversation with them yet. Mrs. Walling may have told my wife by this time.”

“Well, colonel, the claimant was, not my Uncle James’ son, as I suspected, but a fraudulent adventurer whom we have known as Gentleman Geff.”

“Gentleman Geff! Why, I thought he had been quite killed by the same parties that half killed you, and that his bones were buried in the old fort cemetery!”

“So did I. So did we all. But we were mistaken. The body buried in the cemetery for Gentleman Geff’s was not his, but that of some poor victim of border ruffianism, whose identification we shall, perhaps, never discover, and Gentleman Geff is alive and flourishing in stolen plumes on the continent of Europe.”

“Tell me all about it!” exclaimed the colonel.

And Ran went over the story of Gentleman Geff’s crimes, already so well known to our readers.

Col. Moseley listened with grave interest; Mike with open-mouthed wonder, Judy in stupefaction.

“I do not know why one should ever be surprised at anything that happens,” mused the colonel.

“Bedad, meself is only shurprised that I nivir had the sinse to shuspect it,” remarked Mike.

“And he that particular about his clane linen! Sure, I nivir less would have belaived it av sich a jintleman!” sighed Judy.

“Where is the scoundrel now?” inquired the colonel.

“Somewhere in Europe on his bridal tour,” replied Ran.

“On his bridal tour?”

“Oh, yes,” said Ran.

And then he told the story of Gentleman Geff’s felonious marriage.

“A fine account he will have to settle!” exclaimed the colonel. “Two assaults, with intent to kill, one bigamy, divers forgeries and perjuries, to say nothing of the fraudulent claim of a name and estate to which he has no right.”

“I shall not take a single step toward prosecuting him,” said Ran.

“Ah! you won’t! By the way, do you really sail on Saturday?”

“Yes, colonel, really. And, moreover, I mean to take Judy with me. Yes, indeed, sir. She is more than wealth, and rank, and culture, and every other worldly good. Sooner than part again, with half a sphere between us, we will get married first and go to school afterward,” said Ran, taking Judy’s hand within his own and keeping a close hold of it.

“Whe-ew! And what does Miss Judy say to that?” inquired the colonel.

“Sure, thin, sir,” began Judy—but her face flamed and she mended her speech—“indeed, sir, I have consented to do as Ran wishes. Why should I not? Absence has tried us. He has graived—suffered, that is. And as for myself, sir, there was many a time when I could have started to walk clear across the continent to go to him just as I walked through the wilderness to find him when he was wounded, only it would not have been—been—right, I suppose.”

“And so you mean really to marry this young fellow and go to Europe with him?”

“Yis—yes, if you please, sir.”

“But you said out there at the fort that you would not do it until—something or other, I have forgotten what.”

“Until he had seen something of the world, sir, to be sure of his own mind—that is what I mint—meant. And now it is not as if Ran and myself had only met lately at a party and took a sudden fancy to each other. We have known each other for years.”

“And, sir,” said Ran, “you must not think that we have given up the plan of education; for we have not. I have talked it over with my Cousin Cleve here, and settled upon a plan, to which Judy has agreed. We will marry, as I said, before we sail for England. After we have visited Haymore we will go to London, as being the place of places where we can live in the strictest retirement, unknown and untroubled, until education shall have fitted us to mingle with society. After which we will go and settle at Haymore. This is the best plan I can think of to keep us united. And I will not entertain any plan that is to part this dear, true girl from me, even for a season.”

“Bravo, my boy! Even if I had a right to set up any opposition to your wishes, I should not do it. And what is to be done with Mike?”

“Mike is my brother,” replied Ran. “He shall share with me in any way he likes. He shall go to England and live with us if he likes. Or stay here, and enter into any business that he may choose and be fit for.”

Col. Moseley looked at Ran, and thought him the most unselfish, the most unworldly individual he had ever seen in all the days of his life.

And so Ran was.

The colonel soon took leave, expressing his pleasure in the prospect of meeting his friends at Mr. Samuel Walling’s that evening.

“And now, young man, that I have shown you the way to your sister’s abiding-place, you will not need my guidance any longer. Good-day to you,” he said to Mike as he left the room.

“Good-day, and many thanks for your shivility, sir,” returned Mike.

It occurred to Ran then that perhaps Mike, in the simplicity of his heart, was staying longer than was convenient in the narrow quarters of his cousins; so very soon he asked him:

“Where are Longman and old Dandy staying? I should like to see them.”

“Oh, they are at Markiss’, away down on Water Street. They’d be proud to see you, Ran. Come with me, and I will take ye straight to them.”

This was exactly what Ran wished. He arose and bade the two young women good-morning, and left the house with his friend.

Palma and Judy began to think of making preparations for the family dinner party at Mrs. Walling’s.

Palma took out her crimson cashmere dress and gave it to Mrs. Pole to be brushed and shaken, sponged and pressed, and looked over her small stock of lace and gloves.

Judy looked down on her own brown traveling dress and said ruefully:

“This will never do to wear this evening. I have got a pretty dark blue French merino; but it is in my trunk at the hotel, and sure it might as well be in Aigypt—Egypt, that is.”

“Col. Moseley will be sure to send the trunk to you,” suggested Palma. And even while she spoke a noise was heard outside and a knock came to the door, and the janitor entered the parlor, followed by a porter with the girl’s trunk on his shoulders. When he put it down on the floor Stuart paid and discharged him, and shortly after left the house on his daily hopeless search for employment.

That evening Stuart, Palma, Hay, Judith, Col. and Mrs. Moseley, Mr. James and Miss Betty Moseley met at dinner at Mr. Samuel Walling’s. A happier party never gathered around a table.

After dinner the ladies withdrew to the drawing-room, leaving the gentlemen to their wine.

In the drawing-room Mrs. Moseley introduced the subject of Ran and Judy’s proposed marriage. She said to Judy:

“My dear, we are all friends here—intimate friends, indeed—so it is quite proper that I should speak plainly. My young favorite, Mr. Hay, has taken counsel with me concerning his wish to marry you and take you to Europe with him. Am I right in supposing that this is your wish also?”

“Yis—yes, madam,” replied Judy, modestly lowering her eyes.

“Then, dear, are you willing that Mrs. Stuart and myself should make all the arrangements for you?”

“I should be very grateful to you, madam.”

“Look here! I am not going to be left out in the cold!” exclaimed Augusta Walling, laughing and joining the circle.

“Of course you are not! How should you be, when we are hoping that the wedding breakfast will be served right here in your house on Saturday morning next?” said Mrs. Moseley, well knowing that she might take a much greater liberty than that with her old schoolmate.

“That will be perfectly delightful!” exclaimed Mrs. Walling. “I adore a wedding breakfast at home, and never expected to enjoy one until my own daughter, now at Vassar, grows up and gets married. Miss Judith, shall this be so? Will you place yourself in my hands?”

“Sure and”—brightly exclaimed Judy, and then she stopped suddenly, blushed and amended her speech—“I should be glad and grateful, ma’am,” she answered.

Then Mrs. Walling turned to Palma, saying:

“And you will give me back your guest in time? You are rather too young a matron to chaperon a bride-elect,” she added with a smile.

“As you and my cousins please, dear Mrs. Walling. I should myself be very happy to serve them, but I will not stand in the way of another who can do so much better,” replied Palma.

“That’s a dear, unselfish angel!” exclaimed Mrs. Walling. And then the four women formed themselves into a committee of ways and means, and discussed wedding breakfasts, trousseaus and so forth, treating Judy with as much freedom, tenderness and liberality as if she had been their own child, until the gentlemen came in and the subject was dropped.

The evening passed so pleasantly that it was late when the party broke up.

Stuart, Palma, Ran and Judy returned to their flat.

Stuart had not been able to find a room for Judy. All the rooms were in suites. One more night he had to sleep as well as he could on the short sofa, while Judy shared Palma’s bed.

But the next day, toward the afternoon, Mrs. Walling came for Judy, to take her to the Walling home to make preparations for her marriage on Saturday.

“The Moseleys,” she said, “have secured a fine old manor house at Fort Washington, about fifteen minutes by rail from New York. It is completely furnished and in perfect readiness for occupation. The family are in Europe, and the house has been left in the care of an agent, who has just kept it in perfect order. They leave us to-night; so you see we have room for a score of young girls, if we could find them.”

Palma made no objection to the departure of Judy, but kissed her an affectionate good-by; and Mrs. Walling took the girl and the girl’s little trunk away with her in the luxurious family carriage.

And Ran forsook the Stuarts and spent that evening with the Wallings, returning quite late to his suite of rooms on their flat. But, under the circumstances, his cousins forgave him.