Beyond the City

Chapter 7

It was just three days after the Doctor and the

Admiral had congratulated each other upon the closer tie

which was to unite their two families, and to turn their

friendship into something even dearer and more intimate,

that Miss Ida Walker received a letter which caused her

some surprise and considerable amusement. It was dated

from next door, and was handed in by the red-headed page

after breakfast.

"Dear Miss Ida," began this curious document, and

then relapsed suddenly into the third person. "Mr.

Charles Westmacott hopes that he may have the extreme

pleasure of a ride with Miss Ida Walker upon his tandem

tricycle. Mr. Charles Westmacott will bring it round in

half an hour. You in front. Yours very truly, Charles

Westmacott." The whole was written in a large,

loose-jointed, and school-boyish hand, very thin on the

up strokes and thick on the down, as though care and

pains had gone to the fashioning of it.

Strange as was the form, the meaning was clear

enough; so Ida hastened to her room, and had hardly

slipped on her light grey cycling dress when she

saw the tandem with its large occupant at the door. He

handed her up to her saddle with a more solemn and

thoughtful face than was usual with him, and a few

moments later they were flying along the beautiful,

smooth suburban roads in the direction of Forest Hill.

The great limbs of the athlete made the heavy machine

spring and quiver with every stroke; while the mignon

grey figure with the laughing face, and the golden curls

blowing from under the little pink-banded straw hat,

simply held firmly to her perch, and let the treadles

whirl round beneath her feet. Mile after mile they flew,

the wind beating in her face, the trees dancing past in

two long ranks on either side, until they had passed

round Croydon and were approaching Norwood once more from

the further side.

"Aren't you tired?" she asked, glancing over her

shoulder and turning towards him a little pink ear, a

fluffy golden curl, and one blue eye twinkling from the

very corner of its lid.

"Not a bit. I am just getting my swing."

"Isn't it wonderful to be strong? You always remind

me of a steamengine."

"Why a steamengine?"

"Well, because it is so powerful, and reliable, and

unreasoning. Well, I didn't mean that last, you know,

but--but--you know what I mean. What is the matter with

you?"

"Because you have something on your mind. You have

not laughed once."

He broke into a gruesome laugh. "I am quite jolly,"

said he.

"Oh, no, you are not. And why did you write me such

a dreadfully stiff letter?"

"There now," he cried, "I was sure it was stiff. I

said it was absurdly stiff."

"Then why write it?"

"It wasn't my own composition."

"Whose then? Your aunt's?"

"Oh, no. It was a person of the name of Slattery."

"Goodness! Who is he?"

"I knew it would come out, I felt that it would.

You've heard of Slattery the author?"

"He is wonderful at expressing himself. He wrote a

book called `The Secret Solved; or, Letter-writing Made

Easy.' It gives you models of all sorts of letters."

Ida burst out laughing. "So you actually copied

one."

"It was to invite a young lady to a picnic, but I set

to work and soon got it changed so that it would do very

well. Slattery seems never to have asked any one to ride

a tandem. But when I had written it, it seemed so

dreadfully stiff that I had to put a little beginning and

end of my own, which seemed to brighten it up a good

deal."

"I thought there was something funny about the

beginning and end."

"Did you? Fancy your noticing the difference in

style. How quick you are! I am very slow at things like

that. I ought to have been a woodman, or game-keeper, or

something. I was made on those lines. But I have found

something now."

"What is that, then?"

"Ranching. I have a chum in Texas, and he says it is

a rare life. I am to buy a share in his business. It is

all in the open air--shooting, and riding, and sport.

Would it--would it inconvenience you much, Ida, to come

out there with me?"

Ida nearly fell off her perch in her amazement. The

only words of which she could think were "My goodness

me!" so she said them.

"If it would not upset your plans, or change your

arrangements in any way." He had slowed down and let go

of the steering handle, so that the great machine crawled

aimlessly about from one side of the road to the other.

"I know very well that I am not clever or anything of

that sort, but still I would do all I can to make you

very happy. Don't you think that in time you might come

to like me a little bit?"

Ida gave a cry of fright. "I won't like you if you

run me against a brick wall," she said, as the machine

rasped up against the curb "Do attend to the steering."

"Yes, I will. But tell me, Ida, whether you will

come with me."

"Oh, I don't know. It's too absurd! How can we talk

about such things when I cannot see you? You speak to

the nape of my neck, and then I have to twist my head

round to answer."

"I know. That was why I put `You in front' upon my

letter. I thought that it would make it easier. But if

you would prefer it I will stop the machine, and then you

can sit round and talk about it."

"Good gracious!" cried Ida. "Fancy our sitting face

to face on a motionless tricycle in the middle of the

road, and all the people looking out of their windows at

us!"

"It would look rather funny, wouldn't it? Well,

then, suppose that we both get off and push the tandem

along in front of us?"

"Oh, no, this is better than that."

"Or I could carry the thing."

Ida burst out laughing. "That would be more absurd

still."

"Then we will go quietly, and I will look out for the

steering. I won't talk about it at all if you would

rather not. But I really do love you very much, and you

would make me happy if you came to Texas with me, and I

think that perhaps after a time I could make you happy

too."

"But your aunt?"

"Oh, she would like it very much. I can understand

that your father might not like to lose you. I'm sure I

wouldn't either, if I were he. But after all, America is

not very far off nowadays, and is not so very wild. We

would take a grand piano, and--and--a copy of Browning.

And Denver and his wife would come over to see us. We

should be quite a family party. It would be jolly."

Ida sat listening to the stumbling words and awkward

phrases which were whispered from the back of her, but

there was something in Charles Westmacott's clumsiness of

speech which was more moving than the words of the most

eloquent of pleaders. He paused, he stammered, he caught

his breath between the words, and he blurted out in

little blunt phrases all the hopes of his heart. If love

had not come to her yet, there was at least pity and

sympathy, which are nearly akin to it. Wonder there was

also that one so weak and frail as she should shake this

strong man so, should have the whole course of his life

waiting for her decision. Her left hand was on the

cushion at her side. He leaned forward and took it

gently in his own. She did not try to draw it back

from him.

"May I have it," said he, "for life?"

"Oh, do attend to your steering," said she, smiling

round at him; "and don't say any more about this to-day.

Please don't!"

"When shall I know, then?"

"Oh, to-night, to-morrow, I don't know. I must ask

Clara. Talk about something else."

And they did talk about something else; but her left

hand was still enclosed in his, and he knew, without

asking again, that all was well.