ONE POCKET-HANDKERCHIEF.
Philip Pennycomequick was on his way to Andermatt. He had come to an understanding with Uncle Jeremiah. His comfort, his well-being for the future depended on Salome. The old man had taken a fancy to spend his winters abroad, and he had no wish to remain tied to his business in smoky Mergatroyd. He was quite ready to make it over to Philip, but then Philip must first be reconciled to his wife, and bring her home to hold rule over the house. A Swiss nurse had been found ready to take the child and accompany Philip to Andermatt.
Philip did not travel in the same carriage as the nurse and child, but he saw to their lacking nothing. He occupied a compartment of a first-class carriage by himself, and thought a good deal about himself and his wife. And—first—it was particularly annoying to have only one pocket-handkerchief. The strictest inquiries had been made, but not more than the one in use could be discovered. The washerwoman insisted that she had received none, and the housemaid protested that she had given a dozen. Between the two they had disappeared, and Philip was obliged to purchase a half-dozen fresh silk ones; he would not buy more because he was resolved to get, with his wife's aid, at the bottom of the mystery, and recover the lost pocket-handkerchiefs, wherever they were. Unfortunately he was not aware how many he had had originally; but Salome knew—she had taken count of all his clothing, knew the number of his socks and also of his pocket-handkerchiefs. There was some excuse for the havoc wrought among the former, for the friction of boot heels and soles does destroy the texture of worsted socks, but no rubbing of noses injures the grain of silk pocket-handkerchiefs.
'I know,' said Philip, as the train drew up at Thionville, 'I know that when one has a cold, the secretion is acrid, but it is not sulphuric acid to burn holes in pocket-handkerchiefs. What? Turn out here, and have one's boxes examined? I will come to the bottom of that disappearance of pocket-handkerchiefs. I am put to intolerable discomfort. I hate wiping my nose with silk till it has been washed three or four times and become flexible, and has lost its harshness—it irritates the mucous membrane. I am going through, voyez mon billet! What nonsense examining one's baggage here! Salome will know how many handkerchiefs I had. I am glad I am going to Andermatt; it will set my mind at rest, and I can have these hateful new handkerchiefs washed there.'
But other matters occupied Philip's mind. He had his wife's letters—the last two—in his pocket, and he re-read them; the jolting of the train, the flicker of the light in the lamp overhead, made the reading difficult, and predisposed him to take umbrage at her expressions. What especially annoyed him was her praise of her new friend, the American lady, and it gave him satisfaction to conjure up before his imagination the scene of introduction of himself to her, and to picture himself, with frigid courtesy looking at her, raising his hat, stiffly bowing, and with cold words giving her to understand that her friendship with his wife was against his wishes, and must be discontinued. The places at table d'hôte, he supposed, were arranged according to priority. He would inform the waiter that as he came last, all his belongings, his wife, his sister-in-law, and her nieces must relinquish their seats and come down to the end of the table by him—that would separate his party from the ambiguous stranger. If, after dinner, she came to speak to his wife, he would offer Salome his arm and ask her to come a stroll alone with him.
There were many ways in which this person might be given to understand that she was no longer desired as an associate. A feeble sense of pity for her in her confusion at being shaken off stirred in his heart, and then died away.
He had not written to announce his intention of coming with the baby to Andermatt. He intended to surprise Salome. There would be something flattering to himself in the change of colour, the delight that would spring up in her eyes, the cry of recognition—then the humble hesitation, awaiting his permission to spring into his arms.
Throughout the journey Philip maintained his connection with the baby, though keeping it at a distance, as the sun holds the earth and swings it round it, but never allows the earth to approach it too closely. And as the moon revolves about the earth, so did the Swiss nurse dance attendance on Philip the Little, rotating also, of course, about Philip the Great.
On board the steamer, on the lake, Philip saw a gentleman in light suit, with helmet cap, surrounded by a puggaree, who attached himself to several groups of tourists, and showed them his blackened watch, or discoursed on the great evangelist of Italy, Signor Count Caprili; or on his scheme for rearing Mount St. Bernard dogs. He at once recognised the man, and he caught the fellow's eye on him; but Beaple Yeo made no attempt to renew acquaintance till Philip was in a carriage to make the ascent from Amsteg by the Devil's Bridge to Andermatt, when he jumped into the same vehicle, and held out his hand with a boisterous jollity.
'How d'ye do—do, Pennycomequick? Delighted to see you. Will find my daughter right and flourishing at the Hôtel Impérial. Of course, you go there. I was nearly killed at all of the others. Look at my silver watch-case—turned black with sulphuretted hydrogen. But, of course, you go where Sal is. Good girl! excellent girl! You made a first-rate choice when you took her, and you have my blessing. Mercy on me, that is my grandchild, I presume. To think of it—I a grandfather! If you will do me a favour, my boy, you will say nothing about our relationship. I don't want to be looked upon as a grandpa. Bless me! at my time of life a grandpa! I'll share the carriage with you—pay a third—no a quarter, as you are three, self, nurse, and baby.'