The Booming of Acre Hill And Other Reminiscences of Urban and Suburban Life

THE DEVICE

  “Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
  And all went merry as a marriage bell.”
  —­Childe Harold.

“Henry,” said Mrs. Upton, one cold January morning, a great light of possibilities dawning upon her troubled soul, “don’t you want to take me to the opera next Saturday?  Calvé is to sing in ‘Cavalleria,’ and I am very anxious to hear her again.”

“I am sorry, but I can’t,” Upton answered.  “I have an engagement with Bliss at the club on Saturday.  We’re going to take lunch and finish up our billiard tournament.  I’ve got a lead of forty points.”

“Oh!  Well, then, get me two seats, and I’ll take Molly,” said the astute match-maker.  “And never mind about their being aisle seats.  I prefer them in the middle of the row, so that everybody won’t be climbing over us when they go out and in.”

“All right; I will,” said Henry, and the seats were duly procured.

Saturday came, and Upton went to the club, according to his appointment with Walter; but Bliss was not there, nor had he sent any message of explanation.  Upton waited until three o’clock, and still the doctor came not; and finally he left the club and sauntered up the Avenue to his house, calling down the while imprecations upon the absent Walter.

“Hang these doctors!” he said, viciously.  “They seem to think professional engagements are the only ones worth keeping.  Off in his game, I fancy.  That’s the milk in the cocoanut.”

Five minutes later he entered his library, and was astonished to see Mrs. Upton there reading.

“Why, hullo!  You here?” he said.  “I thought you were at the opera.”

“No, I didn’t go,” Mrs. Upton replied, with a smile.

“There seems to be something in the air that prevents people from keeping their engagements to-day.  Bliss didn’t turn up,” said Henry.  “What did you do with the tickets?”

“I sent Molly hers by messenger, and told her I’d join her at the opera-house,” said Mrs. Upton, her face beaming.  “Did you say Walter didn’t go to the club?” she added, anxiously.

“Yes.  He’s a great fellow, he is!  Got no more idea about sticking to an engagement than a cat,” said Upton.  “Afraid of my forty points, I imagine.”

“Possibly; but maybe this will account for it,” said Mrs. Upton, with a sigh of relief, which hardly seemed necessary under the circumstances, handing her husband a note.

“What’s this?” asked Upton, scanning the address upon the envelope.

“A note—­from Walter,” Mrs. Upton replied.  “Read it.”

And Upton read as follows: 

  “SATURDAY MORNING, January —­, 189-.

“MY DEAR MRS. UPTON,—­I am sorry to hear that Henry is called away, but there are compensations.  If I cannot take luncheon with him, it will give me the greatest pleasure to listen to Calvé in your company.  I may be a trifle late, but I shall most certainly avail myself of your kind thought of me.

  “Yours faithfully,
  “WALTER BLISS.”

“What the deuce is this?” asked Upton.  “I called away?  Who said I was called away?”

“I did,” said Mrs. Upton, pursing her lips to keep from indulging in a smile.  “As soon as you left this morning I wrote Walter a note, telling him that you had been hurriedly called to Philadelphia on business, and that you’d asked me to let him know, not having time to do it yourself.  And I closed by saying that we had two seats for ‘Cavalleria,’ and that, as my expected guest had disappointed me, I hoped he might come in if he felt like it during the afternoon and hear Calvé.  That’s his answer.  I enclosed him the ticket.”

“So that—­” said Upton, beginning to comprehend.

“So that Molly and Walter are at the opera together.  Hemmed in on both sides, so that they can’t escape, with the Intermezzo before them!” said Mrs. Upton, with an air of triumph which was beautiful to look upon.

“Well, you are a genius!” cried Upton, finding his wife’s enthusiasm contagious.  “I’m almost afraid of you!”

“And you don’t think I did wrong to fib?” asked Mrs. Upton.

[Illustration:  During the Intermezzo.]

“Oh, as for that,” said Upton, “all geniuses lie!  An abnormal development in one direction always indicates an abnormal lack of development in another.  Your bump of ingenuity has for the moment absorbed your bump of veracity; but I say, my dear, I wonder if they’ll speak?”

“Speak?” echoed Mrs. Upton.  “Speak?  Why, of course they will!  Everybody talks at the opera,” she added, joyously.

An hour later the door-bell rang, and the maid announced Miss Meeker and Dr. Bliss.  They entered radiant, and not in the least embarrassed.

“Why, how do you do?” said Upton, as calmly as though nothing had happened.  “Didn’t see you at the club,” he added, with a sly wink at his wife.

“Thought you were out of town,” said Bliss; and then he turned and glanced inquiringly at the lovely deceiver.  But Mrs. Upton said nothing.  She was otherwise engaged; for Molly, upon entering the room, had walked directly to her side, and throwing her arms about her neck, kissed her several times most affectionately.

“You dear old thing!” she whispered.

“Mrs.—­Upton—­I’m very much obliged to you for a very pleasant afternoon,” stammered Bliss, recovering from his surprise, the true inwardness of the situation dawning upon him, “as well as for—­a good many pleasant afternoons to come.  I—­ah—­I didn’t see—­ah—­Molly until I got seated.”

“No,” said Molly; “and if he could have gotten away without disturbing a lot of people, I think he’d have gone when he realized where he was.  And he wouldn’t speak until the Intermezzo was half through.”

“Well, I tried hard not to even then,” said Walter; “but somehow or other, when the Intermezzo got going, I couldn’t help it, and—­well, it’s to be next month.”

And so it was.  The wedding took place six weeks later; and all through the service the organist played the Intermezzo in subdued tones, which some people thought rather peculiar—­but then they were not aware of all the circumstances.

THE END