“That you ain’t, Mr. Clare; but you know so much already, I’m afraid you might blame her more than she deserves. Did you suspicion anything that day on the hill?”
“Why, I saw you were troubled; and I knew that your wife—as she is now—had—well, since you ask—had given occasion for complaints of non-attention to business, and had been seen in company you would have disapproved.”
“Is that so? I didn’t know it. Who saw her?”
“Louis Metzerott; but he thinks they met only once, by accident.”
Fritz swore a huge oath under his breath, then begged Mr. Clare’s pardon. “And after all,” he said, “it was a pretty neat job; for I suppose no one else suspects anything.”
“Why, your friend, the porter, upon hearing of your marriage, carried his perplexities to Father McClosky,” said Mr. Clare, laughing, “as to how a young man should have overslept himself on the morning of his projected elopement. I don’t know how he was convinced it was all right and perfectly natural, for there aren’t many matrimonial precedents in the Acta Sanctorum or Alban Butler. But Father McClosky is equal to most things.”
“Then, I suppose he mentioned that she and Frank Randolph left together? It would be better for you to tell the Father, then, Mr. Clare, that when she got to that d—— confounded city, and found he did not mean to marry her, she just slapped his face and left him,” said Fritz proudly. “In a fair, stand-up fight, Gretchen could lick that puppy any day. She’s got twice his muscle; but she had a pretty bad fright, poor girl, wandering about the streets of New York; and so had I for her. I traced ‘em at the depot, by the pastor’s old carpet-bag; but, when I got to the hotel, where they had a suite of rooms, and found both of ‘em gone, I was just ready to give up. However, I started off again, wild enough, you bet; and, just at the corner, who should run into my arms but Gretchen herself! So, as Frank Randolph had registered under a false name at that hotel, and paid a week in advance, we went back there, till I got her a little cheered up; then, we found a clergyman, got married, and stayed the week out at the hotel”—
“You did?” with much surprise.
“You bet your sweet life we did! Why not? Randolph had had enough of it; he wasn’t going to show his face there again in a hurry, and, if he had, I was ready for him. Yes, sir; we lived like princes, and it didn’t cost us a red cent!”
Mr. Clare repressed a smile. “It was a great danger, and a wonderful escape,” he said gravely. “Hundreds of poor girls are less fortunate, Fritz, than your Gretchen.”