On the two thousand dollars due him from Ham they plotted to marry. This was not as great an adventure as it might appear. Billy knew that from the Wilmot people he always was sure of a salary, and one which, with such an excellent housekeeper as was Claire, would support them both. But with his two thousand dollars as capital they could afford to plunge; they could go upon a honeymoon; they need not dread a rainy day, and, what was of greatest importance, they need not delay. There was good reason against delay, for the hand of the beautiful Claire was already promised. The Widow Ducrot had promised it to Paillard, he of the prosperous commission business, the prominent EMBONPOINT, and four children. Monsieur Paillard possessed an establishment of his own, but it was a villa in the suburbs; and so, each day at noon, for his DEJEUNE he left his office and crossed the street to the Cafe Ducrot. For five years this had been his habit. At first it was the widow’s cooking that attracted him, then for a time the widow herself; but when from the convent Claire came to assist her mother in the cafe, and when from a lanky, big-eyed, long-legged child she grew into a slim, joyous, and charming young woman, she alone was the attraction, and the Widower Paillard decided to make her his wife. Other men had made the same decision; and when it was announced that between Claire and the widower a marriage had been “arranged,” the clerks in the foreign commission houses and the agents of the steamship lines drowned their sorrow in rum and ran the house flags to half-staff. Paillard himself took the proposed alliance calmly. He was not an impetuous suitor. With Widow Ducrot he agreed that Claire was still too young to marry, and to himself kept the fact that to remarry he was in no haste. In his mind doubts still lingered. With a wife, young enough to be one of his children, disorganizing, the routine of his villa, would it be any more comfortable than he now found it? Would his eldest daughter and her stepmother dwell together in harmony? The eldest daughter had assured him that so far as she was concerned they would not; and, after all, in marrying a girl, no matter how charming, without a dot, and the daughter of a boarding-house keeper, no matter how respectable, was he not disposing of himself too cheaply? These doubts assailed Papa Paillard; these speculations were in his mind. And while he speculated Billy acted.
“I know that in France,” Billy assured Claire, “marriages are arranged by the parents; but in my country they are arranged in heaven. And who are we to disregard the edicts of heaven? Ages and ages ago, before the flood, before Napoleon, even before old Paillard with his four children, it was arranged in heaven that you were to marry me. So, what little plans your good mother may make don’t cut enough ice to cool a green mint. Now, we can’t try to get married here,” continued Billy, “without your mother and Paillard knowing it. In this town as many people have to sign the marriage contract as signed our Declaration of Independence: all the civil authorities, all the clergy, all the relatives; if every man in the telephone book isn’t a witness, the marriage doesn’t ‘take.’ So, we must elope!”
Having been brought up in a convent, where she was taught to obey her mother and forbidden to think of marriage, Claire was naturally delighted with the idea of an elopement.
“To where will we elope to?” she demanded. Her English, as she learned it from Billy, was sometimes confusing.
“To New York,” said Billy. “On the voyage there I will put you in charge of the stewardess and the captain; and there isn’t a captain on the Royal Dutch or the Atlas that hasn’t known you since you were a baby. And as soon as we dock we’ll drive straight to the city hall for a license and the mayor himself will marry us. Then I’ll get back my old job from the Wilmot folks and we’ll live happy ever after!”
“In New York, also,” asked Claire proudly, “are you directeur of the electric lights?”
“On Broadway alone,” Billy explained reprovingly, “there is one sign that uses more bulbs than there are in the whole of Hayti!”
“New York is a large town!” exclaimed Claire.
“It’s a large sign,” corrected Billy. “But,” he pointed out, “with no money we’ll never see it. So to-morrow I’m going to make a social call on Grandpa Ham and demand my ten thousand francs.” Claire grasped his arm.
“Be careful,” she pleaded. “Remember the chicken soup. If he offers you the champagne, refuse it!”