II
Cousin Mary came to town as she had promised, and she made Cousin Jimmy drop his work and follow her through the shops half the morning. Cousin Mary was all that Cousin Jimmy had ever said of her. She was pretty and she was genial. When these attributes are combined in a cousin they invite confidences.
The two were standing on a corner, waiting for a swirl of foot passengers, carriages and street-cars, to be untangled, when Mary heard Jimmy making some remark about "Miss Putnam."
"So, she's the one, is she, Jimmy?"
"Well—er—I—I don't know. You see—"
"Certainly I see. Who wouldn't? Is she pretty, Jimmy?"
Jimmy saw a pathway through the crowd and led his cousin to the farther curb before answering:
"Yes, she is very pretty."
"Tell me all about her. How long have you known her? How did you meet her? Is she tall or short? Is she dark or fair? Is she musical? Oh, I am just dying to know all about her!"
All the way down State Street Jimmy talked. All the way down State Street he was urged on and aided and abetted by the questions and comments of Cousin Mary, and when they had buffeted their way over Jackson to Michigan Avenue and found breathing room, she turned to him and asked pointedly:
"When is it to be?"
"When is what to be?"
"The wedding."
"Whose wedding?" Jimmy's tone was utterly innocent.
"Whose? Yours and Lucy's, to be sure."
"Mine and Lucy's? Why? Mary, I've never asked her yet."
"You've never asked her! Do you mean to tell me that when you can talk about her for seven or eight blocks, as you have, you have not even asked her to marry you? Why, James Trottingham Minton, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Where does this paragon of women live? Take me to see her. I want to apologize for you."
"Won't it be better to get her to come in and lunch with us? She lives so far out you'd miss your train east this afternoon."
"The very thing. Would she come?"
"Why, yes. I asked her the other night and she said she would."
"Then, why have you waited so long to tell me. Where are we to meet her?"
"Well, I didn't know for sure what day you would be here, so I didn't make any definite arrangement. I'm to let her know."
"Oh, Jimmy! Jimmy! You need a guardian, and not a guardian angel, either. You need the other sort. You deserve hours of punishment for your thoughtlessness. Now go right away and send her word that I am here and dying to meet her."
"All right. We'll have lunch here at the Annex. You'll excuse me just a moment, and I'll send her a telegram and ask her to come in."
"Yes, but hurry. You should have told her yesterday. When will you ever learn how to be nice to a girl?"
Jimmy, feeling somehow that he had been guilty of a breach of courtesy that should fill him with remorse, hastened to the telegraph desk and scribbled a message to Lucy. It read:
"Please meet me and Mary at Annex at 2 o'clock."
"Rush that," he said to the operator.
The operator glanced over the message and grinned.
"Certainly, sir," he said. "This sort of a message always goes rush. Wish you luck, sir."
The operator has not yet completely gathered the reason for the reproving stare Jimmy gave him. In part it has been explained to him. But, as Jimmy has said since, the man deserved censure for drawing an erroneous conclusion from another's mistake.
It was then noon, so Jimmy and Mary, at Mary's suggestion, got an appetite by making another tour of the shops. In the meantime a snail-paced messenger boy was climbing the Putnam steps with the telegram in his hand.