Newspaper Page Text
American Sunday Monthly Magazine Section
9
but temporary, but two years and more had passed
and the Bopps still found themselves in the same
apartment. The drawing-room was a fairly bright
little place when the sunlight came through the bow-
window and its glow fell on the wall paper with the
carmine roses and long green stems; but on this
particular occasion there was no sunshine—it was
raining in torrents; the drops beat against the panes,
the windows rattled in their sashes and the wind
'whistled and howled its way through the narrow
streets as if it was going to carry away the entire
west side and dump it into the North River. Mrs.
Amy Bopps, pretty of face and still slight of figure,
stood at a window looking disinterestedly through
the mist of the storm to the gray outlines of the
towering apartment houses across the way. Miss
Patsey Craig, who a little more than two years
before had acted as her maid of honor, sat in a deep
chair at the fireplace and rested her feet on the steel
fender.
“You once remarked, Patsey,” said Mrs. Bopps,
still looking into the storm, “that Ned had all the
characteristics of a Paterson commuter.”
Miss Craig extended one foot and gave the coal
grate a jarring kick with her heavy walking-boot.
“Well?” she asked.
“Well, the Paterson part wasn’t necessary. I’ve
studied commuters and they all have the same char
acteristics, whether they go to Jersey or Long Island,
or up Westchester way. They all start the day by
opening their watch and putting it on the breakfast
table where the salt-cellar ought to be. Then they
defy conversation by
hiding behind the
morning paper.”
“ One of these
days,” interrupted
Miss Craig, “ when the
clergyman says: ‘If
any man can show
just cause why they
may not be joined
together,’ somebody
is going to get up and
tell the truth and ac
knowledge that the
just cause is a morn
ing paper held up by
a carafe of water on
the breakfast table.”
Amy left her place
at the window and the
desolation of the storm
outside and pulled up
a low chair at the side
of Miss Craig in front
of the fireplace.” W hat
I object to most about
commuters,” she said,
“is that they all be
lieve they are traffic
managers. If there is
a crush on the ‘L’
platform, or a delay
in the subway, or a
fog on the North
River, Bopps sits
down and writes a
long letter to the
superintendent and
asks him what he is
going to do about it.
My husband’s sole
topic of conversation
every night when he
gets home is ferry
boats; whether he
caught the Pittsburg
or the Altoona is
really about the only
thing that interests
him. Why the other day he came home positively
in a nervous perspiration because the Altoona
was going to be laid up for repairs. You might
Ckarlcs
B elmont D avis
have thought he owned all the drydocks in
Hoboken.”
Miss Craig turned in her chair to look at a high
Dutch clock that stood in the corner. “What time
does he get back?”
“At six—to the minute.”
“Is that clock right?” asked Miss Craig.
“It is—-regulating that clock is one of the best
things Ned does. The winding takes place every
Thursday night before he goes to bed. To hear
Bopps pull on those chains you might think he was
coaling up an Atlantic liner for the Orient.”
Miss Craig put out her hand and laid it on Amy’s
arm. “You poor kid,” she said. “Neither of us
ever thought my prophecies at the Springs would
really come true, did we?”
Amy pressed her thin pale lips into a straight line.
“They haven’t—not all of them. You said in six
months I would be in love with Sam Ogden.”
“Did I? Well, aren't you?”
“I certainly am not.” Amy spoke with an air
of much personal conviction.
“Well, you’re in love with somebody—and it’s
evidently not Bopps from the way you play the
piano. Women who love their husbands never
play that way.”
“ How do I play the piano? ”
“ Well, the other day when I was lying down in the
bedroom and you didn’t know I was listening, you
played some music that ought to be sterilized. It
would have made a poetess of passion blush scarlet
and knock off work for the day. It was awful!”
“ I have not seen Sam Ogden more than half a
dozen times since my marriage,” Amy said, “and
then only to say ‘How-do-you-do,’ or ‘It’s raining,’
or ‘ It isn’t raining.’ He doesn’t like me any more.”
“He does—he told me himself yesterday.” Miss
Craig looked up at her friend and found that the
words were not without their result. A new color
had come into the girl’s face and a new light, or
rather an old light, into her eyes.
For a few moments there was silence while the
two girls looked down at the four shoes resting on the
fender.
“I expect to see Sam to-night.” It was Patsey
who broke the silence. “He’s going to a dance at
the Wellmans’.”
“Well?” asked Amy.
“Well, I’ll tell him that he’s foolish; that you’re
just as good a friend as you ever were and that he
ought to come to see you to-morrow afternoon.”
Amy interlaced her fingers tightly behind her head
and looked up at the tinted ceiling. Miss Craig
pulled herself out of the depths of the chair, and
with her chin resting between the palms of her
hands, sat looking at the burning coals in the hearth.
“All right,” said Amy at last. “Tell him I’ll
be home to-morrow at five.” And that was the
last time Ogden’s name was mentioned that after
noon.
It was unfortunate that on that particular Tues
day Bopps should have returned home with a really
unusual bit of local news. He announced that the
following Thursday evening he had to start on a short
business trip to Pittsburg. It was an event of some
moment, as it was the first occasion on which the
firm had entrusted him with a mission of any import,
and, incidentally, the first time he had left his wife
over night since their wedding day. Of the latter
fact it was Amy who reminded him. On his way
up town Bopps had secured several time-tables and
the after-dinner hours were devoted to arranging
details of the coming trip. It was finally decided
that he should take a through train, for which
the last boat left Twenty-third Street ferry
at five-fifty-five Thursday afternoon. Amy
was to accompany him as far as Jersey City
and then return to a modest home dinner
or dine with Patsey Craig, while Bopps
should take advantage of the din
ing-car en route. In'all of this Amy
pretended to take a pretty interest,
but down in her heart she cared
not at all. Her mind, even while
she talked of trains and dining-cars,
constantly reverted to the visit of
Ogden the next day. Not for a
moment did Amy admit that she
loved him or ever had loved
him—he simply represented a
life that was gone—and gone
for good. He was the
most conspicuous of
several young men
who had pro-
Continued on
15)
“Do girls usually take men to church
wards on moonlight nights to break off
engagements ? I don’t ”