Wesblock, the autobiography of an automaton

by Harry McDonald Walters

To say that I was exceedingly uncomfortable is hardly to express my sensations; but I kept my head and said:

“In the first place, Mr. Pfhal, I presume I may examine your credentials. If they prove correct I will ask you to retire a few minutes while I discuss the situation with Miss Joseph, whom I will ask to decide what our action will be. We cannot hinder you from following us, but you cannot take us anywhere we are unwilling to go.”

The sense of Muriel’s being at my side gave me the courage to make this speech. Mr. Pfhal smiled again, exhibited a silver badge, which he wore on his suspenders, and produced Doctor Joseph’s telegram, after which he retired to the end of the car, keeping all the while his mask-like face towards us.

Muriel and I turned and looked at each other, and smiled as well as we could. We came down from the clouds and discussed things as they were, and made such plans for the future as our forethought told us would be necessary. We concluded that there was nothing to do but to go to our respective homes and pretend to be good for a while. We swore the oaths of lovers to each other, and presently Mr. Pfhal came and sat down opposite to us once more; we informed him of our decision which he declared to be the only possible one, for the present, at any rate.

At the next station Pfhal carried my love away. I kissed her good-bye and continued my journey alone. It is useless to attempt to explain my feelings. I was simply dazed, like a man passing slowly out of the condition of anæsthesia. I could not think in a straight line in any one direction. I knew I had made an awful mistake; that I would be laughed at by many, blamed by some; that I had now angered Muriel’s father and had put Muriel in a very bad light. I even fancied that she might turn from me herself and hate me for having made her look so foolish; but she was of a character not easily moved from a purpose. Mrs. Joseph, I knew, would make things very unpleasant as far as was in her power, and I hated to think of the grinning, cynical face of Lizette.

I decided to go to my mother, the only one who thoroughly understood me. She was at Kennebunk, on the coast of Maine, for the summer. It is a long, tiresome trip from Riviere du Loup to Kennebunk. It was particularly so for me. I neither ate nor slept, and could only think and worry and wonder. When I arrived at Kennebunk I was a mental and physical wreck. I was dirty, unkempt, tired, worried, angry, humiliated, and in a manner heart-broken as well.

My mother was never much surprised at any action of mine; so when I appeared before her, although she supposed me to be at the mill, her astonishment was not great. She saw by my looks that something important had happened. She took me to her room, and there I tearfully unfolded the tale of my latest exploit. She listened to me silently and unquestioningly, and when I had finished, kissed me as if I had been still a young repentant child.

“Never mind, son,” she said; “don’t fret and fume. Things will come out all right. Now lie down and have a good sleep. You are fagged out. The whole business will look very much better to you when you are rested and have eaten a good meal.”

I felt better after dividing my troubles with mother, went to bed and slept soundly for eleven hours. I remained one day with mother and returned to the mill, where I remained for two months and kept busy, which is a great cure for everything. I had daily letters from Muriel, who was full of hope for our future, and continued to believe in me.

Mrs. Joseph made Muriel’s life very unhappy during these days; but, of course, accomplished nothing in her attempt to force a break with me. She was that kind of woman, known as a “nagger,” who never achieves anything but aggravation.