The cable

COMING back into the lobby of the Beacon Head, Cis darted ahead of Rodney Moore and up to the clerk’s desk. Here in her particular pigeonhole, held down by the key of her room with its broad, portable mooring displaying the same number as the pigeonhole, lay a letter, fallen almost flat. Cis saw at once that the upper left corner bore the name she sought: “Lucas and Henderson,” in exceedingly clear-cut small Roman letters, the firm address engraved below them.

“My key and mail, please,” said Cis, trying to appear casual, in reality stirred by hope and fear. Somehow she did not want to leave Beaconhite; suddenly she found it desirable to stay on here, and this letter might compel her to travel on, unless she were able to stumble upon employment by strangers, to whom she had no introduction.

Cis walked back to where Rodney Moore awaited her beside a small leather-covered sofa, turning the letter in her hands.

“My verdict has come in; my lawyers have notified me,” she said, dropping on the brown seat, tipping her head back against the sofa-back, unconscious that the dark brown leather made a perfect background for her copper-red hair. “Wonder if it is that I’m to go farther?”

“No, sir! Too certain that you’d fare worse!” declared Rodney promptly. “You’re not going an inch out of Beaconhite, that’s flat! I can put you into something; poor enough, but enough to hold on by till you find what you want. Open up, Cicely; read your offer of $10,000 a year!”

Cis “opened up,” slitting the end of the envelope with the point of her bar pin, prolonging the operation in a way unlike herself.

The communication which she unfolded was brief, compactly typed in the middle of a large page. It read:

“Great little old snarled up signature!” commented Rodney, whom Cicely had permitted to read the letter with her. “Wouldn’t be easy to forge! Not a bad salary, my Holly friend, and the increase will be swift, or else you won’t stay. Not bad. We’ll have a supper after the private theatricals, to celebrate; just we two!”

“Let me off from the theatricals, please, will you, Rodney?” asked Cis. “I’ve been sorry I said I’d go, anyway; it’ll be kind of a cross between a place where you’ve a right to go, and a place where you’re intruding. I know ’em; they’re always like that! All the friends and relations of the performers are there—like a funeral!—and they talk across to one another, and look at a person as if they wondered how on earth you broke in—selling tickets for a charity doesn’t calm ’em. But what’s more, I ought not to go anywhere to-night, except to boarding houses. I’ve got to find a place to live, if I’m going to stay in Beaconhite; can’t stand $5.00 a day at this hotel, wouldn’t leave much for—well, for having my shoes polished, for instance!” She stopped to enjoy her own allusion with the liquid gurgle of laughter that did not pass her throat, for which Rodney Moore had already learned to wait with anticipation.

“But it is a nice salary to begin on, isn’t it? I knew Friday was my lucky day! Found a jolly pal who suits me fine, and got my job! Wonder if Christmas fell on Friday the year I was born?” Cis ended with another little suppressed laugh.

“What a girl! You don’t mind letting a chap know that you think he’s all right, and are glad that you found him, do you?” cried Rodney, puzzled but admiring, somewhat piqued, nevertheless; such frankness was prohibitive as well as welcoming.

“Don’t mind anything that’s honest! Besides, pals don’t flirt. You didn’t say whether you’d let me off from the movies—I mean the theatricals?” Cis said.

“What else can I do?” retorted Rodney. “If you don’t want to go, I’m not going to force it. But as to boarding places, what’s the matter with coming where I am? Funny old girl keeps it, but her heart’s so big she has to cover it up. She sets a great table, and neat’s no word for her! You could be as happy with one of her old-fashioned dinners served on the floor as on the table, and her kitchen’s shining clean! You’ll never find another place as good. I’ll speak to Miss Gallatin, and engage the place for you; I know there’s a room empty now, though it doesn’t often happen.”

“Good boy, Rodney Moore!” Cis approved him. “Then I won’t go hunting board, but I don’t want to go to the theatricals. I’ll write Nan and Miss Lucas.”

“You’re not bidding me run away and play by myself this first evening, are you?” Rodney made a great show of consternation, but watched Cis.

“Not if you want to play with me,” Cis told him. “But how about those theatricals? Thought you were booked for them.”

“Oh, bother the theatricals! I’ve bought two tickets and that’s all I’m obliged to do about them,” declared Rodney. “I’d rather play with you; you’re a discovery, Miss Cicely Adair.”

Then he remembered the handsome girl who was playing the leading part in the theatricals that night, the girl who had social position, wealth and glorious beauty, though not charm, nor more than a somewhat minus allowance of brains, but in regard to whom G. Rodney Moore had definite plans. He was surprised to find that he had forgotten Gertrude Davenport till Cis indirectly reminded him of her; remembering her now, her beauty did not seem so glorious as usual as his eyes rested on the varied expression of Cis’s face. There was no denying that this new girl had charm and to spare.

“A discovery? Well, if it comes to that, I’m not as sure as I’d like to be that I’m the discovery; I suspect that I discovered you. Come around, if you want to, and tell me what your Miss Gallagher says about taking me to board; get her terms, and the whole thing. But if you change your mind about the theatricals, it’s perfectly all right. Call me up, though, please, because if I’m not going to your boarding house I’ve got to hunt up another, start out early in the morning. I’ll look for you at half past eight or so, but I’ll not mind a speck if you go to your private theatricals. So don’t feel tied up.” Cis spoke with crisp cheerfulness, having risen and begun moving toward the stairs, her eyes on the clock behind the desk.

“H’m! Pleasant to be told you’re as welcome to be absent as to be present, that you don’t matter a whoop!” grumbled Rodney, and meant it. “I’ll be around, Miss Cicely, and don’t you forget it! I’d come, if it was only to begin your lessons in finding me necessary! Congratulations are in order, by the way; I forgot to offer them. You landed a big fish when you landed the private secretaryship to Wilmer Lucas! We’ll celebrate—when? To-morrow? Sunday?”

“Not to-morrow; I’ve got to get settled living somewhere, permanently,” said Cis.

“Sunday, then? Do you lie late Sunday? Any objections to a pleasant time on that day? I don’t suspect you of Puritanism! I myself get up about noon on Sunday, but I’m ready to forego my needed rest and trot you out in the forenoon. If not, we’ll lunch somewhere, and go for a jolly time afterward,” suggested Rodney.

“Time enough to talk about Sunday,” returned Cis. “I usually get up fairly early; Sunday, too, but I don’t spend the day psalm reading. Run along; I’m busy. Let me know about Miss Gallagher by telephone, or otherwise.”

“Otherwise; at eight-thirty sharp. By the way, it’s Gallatin, not Gallagher. Good-bye, Holly. You’re a peach, and I’m glad we had our shoes polished!” cried Rodney.

Cis laughed, and ran up the stairs, scorning the elevator. At the landing she caught a glimpse of Rodney standing where she had left him, watching her. She started to turn back to wave him a supplementary farewell, but checked herself, and went on without betraying that she knew he was still there. She finished her journey up the second section of the stairway, wondering at herself. Never before in all her life had she refused herself the expression of a friendly impulse. Was it shyness? Could it be coquetry that had held her hand from that last salute? She had never been shy; she scorned coquetry. “Air of Beaconhite doesn’t agree with you, Cis, my dear old chap!” she warned herself.

Miss Hannah Gallatin was a character, as Rodney had implied. She was tall and gaunt, almost stern in manner, curt of word, severe, but there was no kinder creature in the world than this lonely maiden woman who had no one of kith nor kin on whom to lavish love, who therefore, perhaps, had taught herself not to express it except by ceaseless deeds of kindness, done as if they were penal.

She was a convert to the Catholic Church, one that would not have been predicted, but Father Morley, of St. Francis’ church, himself the son of a convert to the Old Faith, had many converts to his credit; among them Hannah Gallatin, who, if she did not grace it in one sense, certainly was an honor to it in all essential senses.

To this fine, though eccentric person G. Rodney Moore repaired upon his return from the Beacon Head. In the course of his walk, meditating upon Cicely Adair, he had warmed into a great admiration for her wit, her charm, her kindliness, her unmistakable purity of thought and deed below her boyish daring, which might easily be misunderstood. Therefore the enthusiasm he felt for Cis escaped into his eyes and voice as he laid before Miss Gallatin the need that “a friend of his” had of a good home, a comfortable room, nice surroundings, “not the ordinary boarding house,” he added, feeling himself diplomatically clever. “This Miss Adair,” he went on to say, “is precisely the kind of girl whom Miss Gallatin would like about; he felt proud to be the one to offer such a perfect fit, from both points of view, for Miss Gallatin’s cozy room, now vacant.”

“Oh!” said Miss Gallatin, regarding Rodney attentively. She did not wholly like this one of her boarders, though she knew no justification of her distrust. He had come to her, a stranger in the city; had been regular in his goings and comings; orderly in the house; agreeable to his fellow-guests; he never went to church, but Miss Gallatin knew that in the present generation of Protestants this proved nothing worse than that they had let go of the illogical anchorage of their fathers; she did not know that G. Rodney’s last name had been drawn from that green sod wherein church-going was a totally different matter. If she had known that this Moore had been an Irish name in the time of its present possessor’s great-grandfather, she would have exclaimed: “There!” triumphantly, but she had no suspicion that Rodney Moore had been brought up to go to Mass. “He did not show it,” as she might have said. “Oh!” Miss Gallatin now exclaimed, adding at once: “Ah! Friend of yours, you say? Schoolmate? How long’ve you known her? Live in Beaconhite?”

“She is going to live here,” said Rodney, flushing, annoyed, trying to hide it in order not to frustrate his own ends. “She has just come here, five days ago. She is to be Wilmer Lucas’ secretary; his brother sent her to him, and she’s not the sort of girl to chum in with all sorts. She’s an awfully nice girl, Miss Gallatin; just your kind!”

“Like me?” hinted Miss Gallatin. “Character or looks? About my complexion and figure, I’ll bet a dollar! Can’t be quite my age. How long did you say you’d known her?”

“Not long,” said Rodney. “But I know her well; she’s that frank sort that hasn’t a thing to hide; fearless, straight, boyish, but not tom-boyish—get the idea? I’m perfectly sure you’ll like her beyond anything. I’ll bring her around this evening; she’s at the Head. You can let her see the room, arrange terms, give her a look over with your eagle eye—and the thing’s done! I’d like her in the house, of course; she’s the kind of girl that is like a nice sister, chummy, helpful, if you get me? But for her own sake I want her here, where you’ll give her just what she needs in every way. I’ll bring her around; I told her I’d see her after dinner to-night.”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” declared Miss Gallatin. “You told me you had tickets for the theatricals. Isn’t Gertrude Davenport in ’em? Forgotten all about it? Met this new girl for the first time to-day, I’ll wager! She must be something of a cyclone! You needn’t bring her around, Mr. G. Rodney Moore; I’m not going to let my vacant room to her, whether all you say of her is true, or whether it isn’t!”

“You’re not willing so much as to show it to her? To meet her? Strange way to act, Miss Gallatin! I am justified in resenting it,” said Rodney with dignity.

“Nothing of the sort!” cried Miss Gallatin briskly. “Don’t have theatricals here; better go to them. She may be a nice girl, but the nicer she is the more reason for keeping her out of the same house where the young man boards whom she got acquainted with, dear knows how! I wouldn’t consider taking her, not if every room but yours was vacant! So that’s settled.”

“She is a fine girl, I tell you! She’s not exactly pretty, but she has the sort of face you like to watch, and her hair is a wonder; loads of bright coppery red hair, and she is full of jolly, kiddish fun, straight and good. I respect her like everything. Good gracious, Miss Gallatin, I’m over thirty; do you suppose I don’t know a nice girl when I see one and talk to her unreservedly? I respect Miss Adair as much as I admire her!” cried Rodney, surprised later on to find how much he cared about the defence of Cicely.

“Right! Keep on respecting her,” said Miss Gallatin. “Send her to Mrs. Wallace’s; she keeps a good house, sets a good table, good’s mine. I won’t have her here. Hold on a minute, Mr. Moore! Send her around to talk with me to-morrow, sometime. I won’t let her board here, but I’ll take her to see Mrs. Wallace. If she can’t come to-morrow, send her Sunday. Don’t you take her to Mrs. Wallace’s; I will. She’s a stranger here, going to work for Mr. Lucas where she’ll be noticed. Don’t start her wrong by escorting her to look up her boarding place. People are queer things; they’re more than likely to hope for the worst. Send the girl to me. I won’t take her in here, but I’ll do by her as I’d want done by me, if I was a young Hannah Gallatin, setting out to earn my living in a strange place. From what you say of her, she’s a conspicuous sort of girl that people with keen palates for gossip will be likely to lick to get a flavor of delicious suspicion! That’s the best I can do and say, so take yourself off, Mr. Moore, if you please; I’ve got my weekly accounts to make up, and it’s always a trial to my eyes, and my nerves, also my temper—of course, after the other two!”

There was nothing for Rodney to do but to accept defeat with as much grace as he could summon. There was consolation in the thought that Miss Gallatin was willing to see Cicely, though only to conduct her to a rival house. He hoped that seeing her, Miss Gallatin might yield her position; he felt entire confidence in Cicely’s ability to win anyone’s complete trust and liking. There was no denying that Miss Gallatin was a wise and kind dragon in her guardianship of this girl whom she had never seen.

Sunday morning Cicely betook herself to Mass at eight o’clock, keeping up her old hour, reflecting with a sense of bewilderment that only the previous Sunday she had heard Mass in the only church which, up to this time, she had ever known, and that Nan was with her, and that she had returned with her into the familiar Dowling household, where young Tom gloomed over their near parting and Mrs. Dowling lectured her on probable dangers which clearly implied her own deficiencies. And now she was beginning life in Beaconhite, uprooted, yet already replanted, on a larger salary, in promising conditions. She had a new friend with whom she was to do something new and pleasant that afternoon. She was a lucky Cis, she thought, kneeling, without much concentration upon it, before the altar, well in the front of the church of St. Francis Xavier at the eight o’clock Mass.

The priest who said this Mass was not young; he was remarkably tall, his shoulders contracted from the reading habit; his hair grey; his eyes deep-set and glowing with singular light; his nose large and handsome; his mouth finely cut, somewhat sad, yet ready to smile, as Cis found out when he turned to his people and began to speak after the reading of the Gospel. A remarkable man, whom Cis began to watch intently, feeling at once attracted and repulsed by him, as if she sensed in him the implanted power of the Holy Ghost which all who knew Father Morley said was his gift, the power that reads souls and irresistibly draws them.

Once Cis was sure that the priest’s eyes met her own, full and steadily; that he knew her for a stranger, and measured her. She liked him, yet she feared him; coming out of the church slowly, borne by the pressure of the immense throng into the outer air, she was conscious of relief, and was glad that it “was not her way to know the priest; that one was——”

Someone touched her arm, a tall, thin, stern looking woman, with clear, kindly eyes, at whom Cis looked questioningly, her formulation of Father Morley suspended. “Are you Miss Adair, I wonder?” asked the woman.

“Yes; Cicely Adair,” replied Cis.

“I saw you were a stranger. Taking your hair, and all together, I thought you must be the girl Mr. Moore talked to me about taking. I’m Miss Gallatin, Hannah Gallatin. Come home with me; I’m going to get you a good boarding place, but not in my house. Fasting?” said Miss Gallatin, speaking with a sort of crisp rapidity.

“No; I had breakfast at the hotel as soon as the doors were opened,” said Cis. “Mr. Moore said you didn’t want me, because he knew me, or words to that effect.”

“Neither do I, though I see he judged you right; G. Rodney always struck me as a man who could judge a woman accurately,” said Miss Gallatin. “Didn’t suppose you’d turn out to be a Catholic. Convert, like myself?”

“No,” said Cis. “I was born one; I’m several kinds of races, all Catholic, except my mother, and she had English blood; half of her blood was English Protestant. But none of my people came from their old countries lately; they were all great or still greater grandparents who came over here, so I’m quite thoroughly American, as things go. Goodness, I don’t care a rap about such things! I’m here, Cis Adair, and what do I care!”

“Verse?” asked Miss Gallatin.

“No; worse! Just a fluke; it does rhyme, doesn’t it?” laughed Cis. “Rod said you wanted to steer me to a house you knew about, though you wouldn’t have me in yours. Kind of you, Miss Gallatin—at least half of it is!”

“It surely is, and it’s the half you don’t mean!” agreed Miss Gallatin. “I’ve had no breakfast. Come with me, and after I’ve seen to my household, and eaten, I’ll take you to Mrs. Wallace. Mr. Moore never gets up till noon, Sundays; you won’t see him. You call him Rod; known him long?”

“Mercy yes! Forty-eight hours!” Cis’s laugh rang out. “You see, Miss Gallatin, I’ve been out in the world, earning my living since I was old enough to earn it, and that was early, because I was always quick to learn, and I was about twenty when I was fourteen. I’ve always had boy friends, and I’m not a bit afraid to chum with them. I’ve some good girl friends, chiefly one, but it’s the nice boy who always takes you as you want to be taken. So when I met Rod Moore we fell right together; I was getting green-lonely, and I’m pleased as pleasure to have him like me and see me on my way.”

“I see!” Miss Gallatin evidently did see, yet Cis felt that her agreement was noncommittal, involving something that she did not understand. “I like you, too, Cis—did you say Cis?—Adair, and I hope you’ll let me help you out, if ever Beaconhite gets too tight for you; presses on any sore spot.”

“Haven’t one!” cried Cis. “Thanks, Miss Gallatin; I like you, and I didn’t like you one bit till I saw you! I suppose it’s all right of you to shove me off, but it isn’t sensible, either; I could board in the house with all my boy chums, be the only girl in the offing, and it would go as smooth as silk.”

“You may have knocked about the world, as you say you have, Cis Adair, and you may have been twenty at fourteen, but at twenty-two—I’d guess?—you are four in some ways, and your experience is by no means rounded out,” said Miss Gallatin oracularly. “Prudence is one of the gifts of the Holy Ghost, my dear, as your catechism taught you, and it’s one of His most valuable gifts to attractive young women, left alone in the world.”

“I don’t remember much catechism, Miss Gallatin,” said honest Cis, with her happy laugh. “I learned some of it when I was confirmed, but I’m not much of a Catholic. Of course I’d never be a Protestant,” she added hastily, “but my religion doesn’t bother me much.”

“No; it wasn’t founded for that purpose,” returned Miss Gallatin. “I wonder how you will be taught to value it? You’ve got to learn, of course you know that.”

Cis looked at her startled, and she was silent for a moment in which her mind went out toward an invisible, infinite track, down which sorrow and suffering, vague, threatening, nameless, molding events, were advancing upon her. Cicely Adair, fearless, free, strong, independent, would be tamed, bound, caught, crushed, perhaps; signed by the cross, and thus learn its meaning.

Cicely shook off the fear that gripped her, the first fear that in all her life had ever assaulted her deep in her heart. Why had it thus assailed her? What had made her vulnerable to a shaft from the hand of this gaunt woman, past middle age, whose effects were almost grotesque? Cis threw back her radiant head with a short, unmirthful laugh.

“Did they name you Hannah because you were going to be a prophetess, Miss Gallatin?” she asked.