Edwin Fuller - Sea-gift

My face was crimson, and the consciousness that it was so made the hue only deeper. To be teased about the girl I loved, before her face, by father, too, was the very climax of embarrassment to me. I glanced at Lulie, and found her not in the least disconcerted.

“Oh, John is so fickle,” she replied, laughing, “that I can never count on him for more than a day or two. If he deserts me, however, I shall not be desolate, as I have several others under my thumb, you know.”

Embarrassment is very much increased by being contrasted with coolness and ease, and mine received a tenfold impulse from Lulie’s light way of treating the matter.

“Really,” continued father, “you are quite a belle; but I am surprised that John should have withdrawn so easily from the contest. I thought you had more perseverance, my son. Surely, you did not encourage him, Lulie?”

“Yes, indeed I did, but he was not to be caught, and I have given him up as a hopeless case.”

I vainly endeavored to swallow my confusion with large gulps of tea; the tea somehow slipped by and left the confusion sticking in my throat, but I managed to jerk out the words:

“If you ever gave any encouragement I did not know it.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed father. “Very good, my son, very good. But suppose she were to offer encouragement now, would you come back? Try him once more, Lulie. I would enjoy the courtship very much.”

“I am willing,” she said, demurely; but I thought I detected a smile towards father, as if they were in conspiracy.

“Now, John,” continued father, “she says she is ready, and will return a favorable answer. How will you commence? Don’t blurt out ‘I love you!’ as that would be unexpected and sudden; come to it gradually, and the slower you are in getting to the point the surer will your answer be ‘Yes.’”

I could stand it no longer, but rose from the table and walked from the room, not, however, before hearing Lulie say:

“I don’t quite agree with you, Col. Smith. I can’t bear a slow courting fellow. If he loves much it won’t take him long to tell it. There! you have run John off. I like him ever so much, only he is very timid.”

I went out and sat on the stoop in no pleasant frame of mind. I was provoked with father for teasing me; I was provoked with myself for being teased, and I was provoked with Lulie for not being teased.

“She cannot love me or she would not treat the matter so lightly,” I soliloquized, grinding white circles on the brown stone with my boot heel. “She thinks me timid, too; I’ll prove my boldness the first opportunity I get.”

Father and Lulie now came out and sat down, but no further allusion was made to the dining room topic. We spoke of our intended trip to the plantation near Goldsboro’, and Lulie agreed, if her pa was willing, to go up and spend the remainder of the summer with us, as it would be very pleasant for her to be with Carlotta. After talking for some time of the pleasures of the country, Lulie rose to go, and I, of course, accompanied her.

So far from proving my boldness I walked by her side in awkward silence till she spoke.

“Why did you let your father tease you so to-night, Johnnie?”

“He didn’t tease me,” I returned, with Munchausen mendacity. “I didn’t care a straw for what he said, only I did not choose to be spoken of so before a lady.”

“I’ll wager Frank Paning would not have been disconcerted,” she said. “He has more self-possession than any one I ever saw.”

“I don’t care what in the thunder Frank Paning has; I don’t want to be like him,” I said, savagely.

“I did not intend to offend you, sir; I am obliged to you for your escort thus far, but, since you are so incensed, will need your services no farther,” she said, very quietly, taking her hand from my arm.

“I beg a thousand pardons, Lulie; I was rude and hasty, but so many constant allusions to Paning irritate me beyond measure. He must be very dear to you from the repeated mention of his name.”

“Oh, no, that does not follow at all. I think very well of him, as he is attentive and kind; but here we are at our gate; won’t you come in?”

“Thanks! not to-night. Let me ask pardon again, Lulie, for my very harsh words on the way.”

“Do not mention it; ‘tis forgotten with me. Good night!”

My feelings, as I walked homeward, were very much mingled. There was always pleasure and pain in being with Lulie. Young as she was she already possessed consummate skill in swaying the feelings – now by some bewitching word or look raising your hopes, then dashing them to earth by some sarcasm, or worse, an allusion to some other favorite. She had reduced her game to a science, and always pitted special rivals against each other. Frank was sure to be my thorn. A single remark, evincing a preference for him, was enough to disturb my equanimity for an evening. So, in my thoughts this evening there was pain, yet a sweet pleasure, too, in the reflection that, in our retired country seat up in Wayne, I would have her all to myself; that I could see her every day, and talk as long and freely as I chose, with all the adjuncts and concomitants of love – woods, birds, brooks, bowers, meadows and moonshine.

Just as I reached our gate I met Frank Paning himself, hurrying up street to his home.

“Hello, John!” he said, lightly, as we stopped, “where have you been? Over to the Doc’s, I suppose. I am getting jealous. Lulie must be looked to.”

“There is no danger,” I replied; “you are certainly the idol there.”

“Oh, you tell me that to blind me, but I know a thing or two. By the way, how is our little foundling. I heard to-day that your folks had brought her here to raise up as a wife for you. I suppose you wish to train her up to suit you, so she will not have to learn your ways after marriage.”

“You heard a most infamous falsehood, then, and you can tell your informant I said so,” I replied, the blood rushing to my face.

“Well, don’t get mad about it; I was only joking. I want to call on her; when will she receive company?”

“Not in a year or two,” I said, emphatically. “She is going up the country next week, and will not return till the fall, when she will commence school, and be closely occupied with her studies.”

“I see it is plain you fear rivals. I will not trouble you.”

Before I could reply he was gone.

The morning is misty and damp, as father, mother, Carlotta, Lulie and I stand under the great shed at the dépôt, waiting for the car doors to be unlocked. It is very early, and nobody seems stirring except those immediately connected with the train about to start. There are a dozen or more people standing in groups, waiting on the same event as ourselves. They all yawn a great deal, rub their eyes, wish they were back in bed, and wonder how long before the brakesman comes to open the car doors. The train itself lies on the track like a great headless serpent (for the engine has not yet been put on), whose red and yellow sides are full of latticed eyes. At last the brakesman, in a blue coat, striped shirt and glazed cap, comes along, whistling the last popular ballad, unlocks the door with a rattle, and shouts “Walk in, ladies and gentlemen.”

We crowd in and select our seats on the side from the sun, if it should come out. Father turns over the seat in front, that it may face the other one, lays his shawl in the corner, hangs up the basket containing our lunch, sits down, pulls off his glove with his teeth, thrusts his hand under his duster, draws out and looks at his watch, shuts it with a snap, and says indistinctly, through the fingers of his glove:

“It will be fifteen minutes before we start.”