“Here! Mary K.,” was the prompt response. “Do you remember all the good times?” I told her I did, and thought of them often. “All the many ae ... an....” There I lost it. She began it many times, in many ways, apparently trying to get a momentum that would carry her through. “All the many am ... I mean ae ... I meant to say anm....” Too tired to continue, again I abandoned the attempt.
Annie Manning came once more, making futile efforts to give me her brother’s address. She finally said it was “just United States Home.” Once she wrote, “just Home.” And once, “Honest, that’s all.”
I have never learned the whole truth about Annie Manning, who ceased, after the first fortnight, to manifest herself; whether because she lacked perseverance or because other influences were already at work, I do not know.
The next day I took up the pencil, expecting Mary Kendal, with news of her husband, but Mary K.’s strong, underlined signature greeted me instead. She said that Mr. Kendal was coming, adding: “On cen ... cent....”
“Century?” I suggested. “Twentieth Century Limited?”
“No ... cen ... ce ... cent....” Finally, she agreed to Century—compromised on it, I learned later. Within five minutes a telegram came from Mr. Kendall—the first word I had received from him—saying that he would arrive in New York Sunday or Monday.
When I told him of this experience he exclaimed: “Central! New York Central!” Which, for some reason, had not occurred to me. At the hour when Mary K. gave me this information he had ordered, at his club in Chicago, a ticket for the Lake Shore Limited—like the Twentieth Century, a New York Central train. Later, having the ticket actually in his possession, he telegraphed me that he would come by that train, reaching New York Sunday evening, but afterward changed to another road.
This second message arrived Saturday afternoon, and I at once inquired of Mary K. why she had said “Century.” Instead of her familiar signature, however, “Frederick” was written.
Having ascertained that this was Frederick himself, and not a message about him, I asked him to go on.
“The Family are happy.” At no time during this brief interview had I the slightest inkling of what was coming. As he had been always so courteous in acknowledgment, the first letters led me to think he was beginning his customary “Thank you.” Saying that their happiness added greatly to my own, I asked if he had anything else to say.