On the Lightship

by Herman Knickerbocker Vielé

As I pronounced each syllable with distinctness, I could perceive the dealer's kindly face expand with pleasure. "Why, Mr. Dykefellow!" he exclaimed, "a letter came for you this morning. I was about to return it to the carrier. Here it is."

I thanked him, gave the square envelope only a casual glance before slipping it into an inner pocket, and then bought a curio, scarcely knowing what I did. I could hardly wait to see my purchase wrapped in newspaper. I feared the dealer might think better of his confidence and make demands on me for identification. I felt the prick of conscience that an honest man must feel who gains even a righteous victory by disingenuous means.

When the door had closed behind me and I was free to stride up Ninth Street with my curio beneath my arm, I dreaded at every step to hear the hue and cry of "Stop thief!" at my heels. Once safe beyond the nearest corner, I actually ran. Up one street, down another, now running, and now short of breath, proceeding at a rapid walk, I came at length to a small, well-nigh deserted public square, and here, seated on a retired bench, I cautiously took out my blue envelope, and for the first time scrutinized its inscription.

The writer was evidently a person of decided character; but whether man or woman it was impossible to guess. There was something masculine about the stationery, which suggested a well-appointed club; but on the other hand, the seal of violet wax, the rather blurred impression of what might have been a dainty crest, the smell of orris, I fancied, spoke of a lady's boudoir. As for the postmark, it was non-committal as to place, but the hour and date were clearly nine-thirty P. M. the previous day, which seemed rather late for a lady; but again, few men ever write "In haste" across the corner of a letter. Of course it would have been a simple matter to have solved the mystery then and there; but a mystery solved can never be itself again, and for the moment I determined to prolong the pleasures of anticipation. I chuckled to myself, and cast a friendly glance about me, vaguely imagining what Selbyville might mean to me in after years. Assuming an easy attitude upon the bench, I gazed into the sky.

"Ah, Fate!" I was beginning to soliloquize, when a rude voice beside me interrupted.

"Say, kape yer feet offen the grass, unless ye own the earth!" it said, and looking up I saw before me the sinister visage of a minion of the law. "And what are ye doin' here anyway?" the voice went on while the visage turned with undisguised suspicion toward my curio, which did look something like an infant wrapped in newspaper.

I said that I was waiting for my train, and asked with all humility to be directed to the station.

I was answered with contumely. I was commanded to "Get a move on!" I was told with scant civility that the Union Station was only one block away. "Even you can't miss it," my informant said. "Follow South Ninth Street."

I rose and thanked the man with all the dignity at my command. I also gave him a cigar, which seemed to mollify him; but if my random flight had brought me once more to the far end of Ninth Street, I should have let every train that ever cleared from Selbyville depart without me rather than have risked another meeting with the curiosity man. As I sauntered nonchalantly in the wrong direction, I am sure that I caught a vulgar idiom muttered by official lips.