‘Why, you may call it happily and so may the lovers, but I call it very disappointing,’ said Miss Martin.
‘Tell us all about it!’ cried Logan.
‘Well, I went down, simple as you see me.’
‘Simplex munditiis!’ said Merton.
‘And was met at the station by young Mr. Warren. His father, with the wisdom of a Nonconformist serpent, had sent him alone to make my acquaintance and be fascinated. My things were put on a four-wheeler. I was all young enthusiasm in the manner of The Young Girl. He was a good-looking boy enough, though in a bowler hat, with turn-down collar. But he was gloomy. I was curious about the public buildings, ecstatic about the town hall, and a kind of Moeso-Gothic tabernacle (if it was not Moeso-Gothic in style I don’t know what it was) where the Rev. Mr. Truman holds forth. But I could not waken him up, he seemed miserable. I soon found out the reason. The placards of the local newspapers shrieked in big type with
Spread Of Smallpox.
135 Cases.
When I saw that I took young Mr. Warren’s hand.’
‘Were you wearing the ring?’ asked Merton.
‘No; it was in my dressing-bag. I said, “Mr. Warren, I know what care clouds your brow. You are brooding over the fate of the young, the fair, the
beloved—the unvaccinated. I know the story of your heart.”