The Bachelors. William Dana Orcutt

      The conversation drifted into smoother channels, but by the time the party separated the acquaintance had developed to a point far beyond an ordinary first meeting. Underneath it different elements were at work in each one's mind and heart, put in motion by the unexpected intensity of almost the earliest words which had been exchanged. Hamlen was the first to leave. He said good-night casually to the group, but managed to separate Huntington from the others.

      "You have done much for one of your classmates to-night," he said simply. "I thank you for it."

      "Nonsense!" Huntington protested. "I'm more than delighted to have this opportunity to know you—and I want to know you better."

      "Will you come to my villa some day this week?"

      Hamlen seemed to hang expectantly upon the answer.

      "Of course," Huntington replied promptly. "If you hadn't asked me, I should have come anyhow. It's an inherent right which I demand."

      Hamlen pressed his hand and turned to Mrs. Thatcher, who walked with him to the door.

      "I don't know whether to thank you or to curse you, Marian," he said feelingly in a low voice. "Through you I have had more interjected into my life in this single day than in the twenty-odd years which have passed by. Is this the dawn of a to-morrow or the epitome of human suffering? Are you my Genius or my Nemesis? Before God I ask the question seriously. I myself cannot answer it."

      "Don't try," she answered, smiling; "let Time do that!"

V

       Table of Contents

      Cosden had been sitting on the hotel piazza half an hour when "Merry" Thatcher emerged from the dining-room, gazed about the almost total vacancy as if looking for some one, and then advanced, recognizing in the solitary smoker an acquaintance of the night before.

      "I'm always the first one," she complained after greeting him. "We're going sailing this morning, but I might have known that no one else would be down for breakfast at anywhere near the appointed time."

      "Why not cheer me up while you're waiting?" Cosden suggested. "I formed the habit of early rising years ago when I had to do it; now that I don't have to, the habit still sticks."

      "Mr. Huntington hasn't appeared yet?" she inquired.

      Cosden laughed, and then looked at his watch. "When you come to know Mr. Huntington better you will admire his mathematical precision: he is never late, but he never arrives a moment earlier than is necessary. The breakfast hour is over at nine-thirty; at nine-fifteen you will observe the gentleman leisurely strolling in the direction of his table, with every detail of his morning dress perfectly adjusted, as if the world had placed all its time at his disposal, when in reality he can just get his order in and have it served hot."

      The girl smiled at the description of his friend. "Not many men are so dependable," she commented.

      "There is only one William Montgomery Huntington," Cosden admitted cheerfully. "It would be exactly the same if the closing of the breakfast room was four-thirty instead of nine-thirty."

      The smile on her face changed to a deeper expression as she looked out across the harbor. She turned to Cosden suddenly.

      "Wasn't he splendid last evening when he talked about the responsibilities of college life! For the first time I wished I were a boy!"

      "He is a very intense person on some subjects; that happens to be one of them."

      The girl could not fail to interest Cosden, even if he were not already attracted by his previous slight acquaintance, for the present mood showed her at her best. The nickname "Merry," given to distinguish the younger Marian from her mother, scarcely served as a descriptive appellation, for underneath the girlish vivacity ran a serious vein which gave her unusual poise, and made her seem older than she was. To Cosden she appeared at that moment the embodiment of attractive girlhood, for the big panama, almost encircling her face, well set off the dark hair and the sympathetic brown eyes, while the color which plainly showed in her cheeks, despite the depth of the complexion, gave just the touch needed to heighten the effect. The soft lines of the white flannel skirt and the pink silk sweater disclosed the youth and litheness of the figure. Cosden was surprised to find himself noticing these details so carefully, and accepted the fact as evidence that his interest in the girl was even deeper than he had supposed.

      "I love intensity in men," she said simply; "so many seem ashamed to show it no matter how strongly they may feel!"

      "That is due to the training of life," Cosden explained, caring little what direction the conversation took so long as they became better acquainted. "The higher up you go, the greater the repression. Diplomacy is the climax of gentlemanly concealment of one's real feelings, and the art among arts of courteous insincerity. In business, of course, there's a reason—"

      "Can't a man be sincere in business?" she asked, looking at him with eyes so deep and straightforward in their expression that he found the question disconcerting.

      "Why—of course," he stumbled; "but 'sincerity' isn't exactly a business expression. If I let you know by my manner that I was eager to buy something which you wanted to sell, or to sell something you wanted to buy, it would naturally affect the price, wouldn't it?"

      "Ought it to?" she persisted. "Why isn't that taking advantage?"

      Cosden smiled indulgently. "Some time, if you like, I will give you a learned discourse on values and what affects them, but anything so erudite now would take your mind off the gaieties of your sailing trip."

      "Will you?" Merry exclaimed delighted. "Father always makes fun of me when I ask serious questions. I am sure I should hate business, because it seems always to be a question of taking advantage of some one else; but I should like to know something about it."

      "You don't approve of taking advantage of some one else?"

      "It is exactly the opposite of what we are taught to consider right, isn't it?"

      "How about bargain-sales when you are home?" Cosden asked with apparent innocence. "Do you ever patronize them?"

      "Why, yes," Merry replied frankly; "I frequently wait for them when I want some particular thing, and my allowance is running low."

      Cosden laughed outright. "If consistency were really a jewel, then would woman go unadorned!"

      "How in the world are you going to twist what I said into an inconsistency?"

      "I'll let you make the demonstration yourself. Here is the problem: a dealer, believing a demand to exist for a certain article, lays in a stock to supply that demand. If you, and other dear ladies who really intend to buy the article, purchased when he first offered it for sale, his estimate of the demand would have been correct. But you all have learned the habits of the shops, so instead of rushing to his counters you play 'possum until the dealer really believes that he has over-estimated the demand, and down goes the value to him and consequently the price to you. Then you rush frantically from your lairs and secure the article you have really wanted from the beginning at a bargain price. Don't you admit that you are taking advantage of the dealer?"

      "Oh, you men do put things in such a disagreeable way!" Merry laughed. "We have to do that to protect ourselves against the outrageous prices they charge in the first place."

      "It's all a game," Cosden said seriously, "and a mighty fascinating one. So long as you stick to the rules you may bluff all you choose, and the best bluffer takes the blue chips."

      "I'm sure I should hate it," Merry repeated. "I'm going to learn to be a teacher, so that if some one outbluffs father I can fall back upon a respectable pursuit."

      "Even then you'll still be in the bluffing game," chuckled Cosden. "Think of the knowledge a teacher has to assume which he doesn't possess!"

      "Oh, dear!"