Miss Dividends: A Novel

by Archibald Clavering Gunter

But as these latter dance with much athletic vigor and Western abandon, they add greatly to the life of the scene. The room is decorated with flags borrowed from Camp Douglas, its large rear windows opening onto a broad balcony, which has been made conservatory-like by flowering plants, and lighted by Chinese lanterns. Here Mr. Dames and his band play the "Blue Danube," which has just become popular, and other modern waltzes interspersed with old Mormon quadrille tunes, some of which were composed, Ferdie remarks, "before the Ark," for this gentleman has just come in, apparently very merry.

"Look and see if Kruger is not changed," he whispers into Erma's delicate ear.

"Why? He does look different. What has he been doing?" answers Miss Travenion.

"He has been getting his hair cut, gratis," giggles Ferdie; "likewise his beard trimmed and his hair shampooed. You see, Bussey, with Western hospitality, has furnished three barbers for the use of his guests, and Kruger, as he remarks, has just been going 'the whole hog.' He would have taken a bath if there had been conveniences in the gentlemen's waiting-room," continues Mr. Chauncey, greatly amused.

"He looks very happy over it," laughs Erma; for Kruger's countenance seems quite bland and genial this evening. His black broadcloth frock coat has been very well brushed, and his shirt front is apparently more ample and crumpled than ever, while his large boots have been very brightly shined by the bootblack on the corner opposite, and his gray eyes, as they roam over the ball-room, have an expression of triumph in them, though they apparently seek only one object. Meeting that, Lot Kruger gives a start, for they rest on Erma Travenion.

Then his orbs grow watery and his thick lips tremble, and his jaws clench themselves, as he thinks, "If it should come to me,—all this; for the glory of the Church of the Latter-Day Saints."

For, robed in some creation of Worth that has been imported to America to make her seem a fairy, Erma's beauty is of the air not of the earth. It is some light, gauzy, shimmering, gleaming thing, covered with tiny pink rosebuds,—thousands of them,—and floats about the girl's dazzling shoulders and gleaming neck and snowy maiden bosom, which is of such exquisite proportions and contours that it would make a sculptor's dream and an average man's ecstasy.

While over all this is a face beaming with some expectant joy, its blue eyes looking for somebody,—somebody who has not yet come.

For a moment Kruger steps forward, as if he would speak to her, but just then Mr. Oliver carries the young lady away to the dance, and sinking upon a seat, the Mormon follows Miss Beauty with his eyes everywhere she moves.

Unheeding the remark that Counsellor Smith, of the Seventies, makes to him, that his last Mrs. Smith is anxious to hear of his trip to the States, and that his (Smith's) daughters, by his first and second wives, Birdie and Desie, are quite ready for a dance, Lot drinks in the girl's loveliness as if it were new wine of such rare bouquet and wondrous flavor that he cannot take the goblet from his lips—wine upon which he will finally get drunk, perchance to his own undoing.